The Essence of The Ethereal
by Albertoersa
Summary: There is more to the Wizarding world than just the fight between good and evil. It is a world full of mysteries, intrigue, unexpected revelations, romance and ideals. There is depth to it, it has essence; Secrets to be uncovered, political agendas and even revolutions. The world is about to be changed and somehow Harry Potter is in the middle of it all. M for blood and sex.
1. Chapter 1

**Basically a Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, OC/Luna Lovegood.**

 **Yes there'll be sex, and yes, humans (and creatures) bleed when injured.**

 **Not a "Dark" Story just a mature one (I hope)... maybe I should add "Random attempts at comedy" in the tags, just in case.**

 **Characters will not be OCC ; sure there will be character development that will follow my rules, but nothing outrageous, at least not to the point where they are unrecognizable.**

 **The big story is there, i just need the details so suggestions are appreciated.**

 **WARNING: the plot is not exactly simple, it is laced with a lot of moral, ethical, philosophical, fantastic, (maybe religious) hormonal and mundane issues. Ye been Warned.**

 **The Essence of The Ethereal**

Chapter 1

It was the last day of school at Hogwarts school of Witchcraft & Wizardry.

The year had been an eventful one; full of controversy and danger.

Harry Potter, the boy who lived, had been at the center of it all. Certainly, nothing that happened during the year had been his fault, and most of it could be traced to the fact that he had been born at the wrong place and at the wrong time.

The fateful day where his parents had been murdered by Lord Voldemort, was a day that had scarred Harry in more ways than just the physical one.

Passed onto him by Voldemort, Parseltongue, the ability to speak to snakes, had led him to uncover a secret plot to eliminate all muggleborn students from the school by making use of the ancient basilisk that laid dormant in the famed yet undiscovered Chamber of Secrets.

It all had ended a week back, with the combined efforts of Harry Potter, Ronald Weasley, and Hermione Granger, leading to the defeat of the monster and his master.

On the way, Harry had managed to save Ginerva Weasley's life who happened to be Ron´s little sister.

With the threat gone, almost everything had returned to normality, and save from a few instances, the large details of what had transpired in the Chamber of Secrets, remained a secret to the vast majority of the students.

By that time of the year normally, classes would have already ended, and at most, people would only be waiting for exam results and such; But given the several events that took place along the year, some classes had yet to complete their curriculum.

One of those was History of Magic; a class that was regarded by many as the most boring of them all, as it was thought by a ghost, who managed to turn even the most important events in the history of the magical world, into a drawl.

Harry Potter, along with all of Gryffindor and Slytherin's second years, were present in the classroom that was dedicated to the subject History of Magic. They were the last batch of students who had yet to complete the subject for the year, and were preparing for the class.

"Why did it had to be History of Magic?" Ron whined loudly, drawing a chuckle from Harry and a scowl from Hermione.

"Quit complaining Ronald, I, personally find this class very interesting" She quipped, earning a dumbfounded expression from Ron.

Harry smiled as he watched them bicker. One would imagine that after two years of being in the middle of their discussions, he would have driven him mad by then. But if anything else, Harry enjoyed it immensely.

To him, both of them represented what having siblings would be like. He liked that thought a lot.

Looking around in the room, harry spotted several familiar faces. Most of them were having conversations regarding different topics, but from what Harry could overhear, most of it was centered around the excitement regarding the end of the school year.

Suddenly the doors that lead to the teacher's office opened.

Everybody stopped what they were doing, and turned to look at the doors, curious expressions on their faces.

Nobody had ever seen them open once in the school year; Most logically, since their teacher was a ghost. Some whispers erupted, as nobody spotted the deceased teacher.

The whispering stopped as soon as footsteps were heard, coming from the tunnel that led into the classromm. Some students leaned forward in their seat, trying to catch a sight of whoever was coming.

Harry was one of them, looking patiently at the shadow filled hallway.

The footsteps became louder and louder, until Harry could make out the silhouette of a tall thin man in the darkness.

Harry smiled as soon as vivid, purple robes filled his view.

Albus Dumbledore, headmaster of Hogwarts, strode gently into the classroom, and onto the teachers podium. The room was again filled why whispers and mutters.

Dumbledore gave everybody a second, before he cleared his throat to speak.

The room became silent almost instantly. Content, Dumbledore began.

"Good evening students" The headmaster addressed them all with his grandfatherly tone. "I'm afraid that there has been an inconvenience in teacher Binn's schedule, due to the unforeseen extension of this period´s classes"

Harry, Ron and Hermione exchanged looks, wondering what could a ghost have to do that would impede it from showing up.

"As it stands, I happen to be the only other qualified teacher in the school to impart this subject properly; I do regret this inconvenience." he finished, peering at everybody over his half-moon spectacles.

Everybody leaned forward in their seats. Nobody of their generation had been thought by Albus Dumbledore himself.

For the headmaster to teach classes was not something that was unheard of. Although itusually happened in the later years, when the students were busy preparing for their OWL & NEWT exams. Often, teachers needed a helping hand in rather complicated subjects.

Harry for his part, was looking forward to it, and even Ron had perked up at the prospect of listening in on a lesson imparted by the legendary wizard.

Hermione was almost drooling.

Dumbledore stood in the podium, quietly, thinking to himself for a moment. Eventually he looked up and at the students.

"I wonder, do any of you happen to know how did our society, ended up the way it is?" he started speaking, his voice clear and smooth.

Hermione's hand shot up almost immediately, while the rest of the students looked at each other in mild confusion.

Dumbledore smiled "Miss Granger, it was a rhetorical question"

Hermione slowly pulled back her hand, while a small chuckle ran across the room.

"Of course, there is a lot on recent history" Dumbledore continued "Hundreds on articles explaining in hundreds of different ways, the hundreds of different true causes of the goblin rebellions; there are detailed biographies of almost any wizard that made a name for himself or herself in the last thousand years. We even have census data on magical creatures, inter-dimensional beings, rogue wizards and such"

He paused for a second, looking around the classroom.

"But i can't help but wonder, if you know the reasons why we hide from muggles, and why there are so many of them and so few of us in comparison; Or why and where does the bigotry on our society come from?" he paused.

Some sneers were heard from the back of the room, but nothing else; this time, it seemed that even Hermione was stumped.

Dumbledore nodded sagely, fiddling with his long, white beard.

"Well then" He started, a sudden, magnanimous air surrounded him as he entered his famous 'lesson mode' .

"It is a tale that goes back over two thousand years ago, to a time where magical beings, creatures and curses were not something that was kept away from anybody. In fact, people who openly practiced the magical arts, and mingled openly with common people.

Magic was something normal to everyone, and while not everybody was naturally gifted with the ability to control it, it was common knowledge the role influence that magical energy had in everything and anything.

There was a point in time where the magical arts, such as they are, had a golden age in terms of development. The Roman Empire had conquered most of the civilized world, providing a way from people and wizards from different places to meet and exchange ideas.

The empire, flourished thanks to this interchange; all kinds of new technologies and artifacts were crafted in those times. From better ways to forge metals to formidable galleys that could sink an armada on their own.

But naturally, there is always somebody who thinks that they deserve more than anybody else; in fact, this is one of the greatest downfalls of man.

His Ego"

Dumbledore paused to let everybody catch up. His tone had lost its earlier brightness, and while it hadn't turned somber, it had taken an air of seriousness that had drawn everybody in.

He continued.

"It started with emperor Caligula. He was a wizard like us, and he started to feel, that his gift in magic was something that he should not have to share with commoners.

He began by giving away a higher level of citizenship to wizards, and common people were left behind. Wizards began higher up in the army, were considered before anyone else for any position, and had privileges to resources during draught or famine.

He began to lose the favor of normal people, and the approval of philosophical schools, of which many wizards were part of.

But, lots of people liked their new privileges, and began indulging in them. What started as mere preference, became a matter of superiority and status, and many wizards began aligning themselves to the emperors ideals.

For generations the situation worsened. Powerful wizards began taking part of the elite classes of society, even becoming personal friends with the current emperor.

Anybody, muggle or wizard, who dared question the status quo was immediately stripped from any position, rank or status, if not outright exiled or killed. Resentment began to form in the hearts of muggles and wizards who had friends and family without magical abilities.

It was only due to the efforts of the philosophical schools of the time, and the sway that they had within the different classes of society that major incidents were avoided.

But when the killing and, purging started, a massive revolt happened. It was bloody and it left scars in society that were never fully healed. Thousands of wizards died in the 'revolution', and the only reason why it ended was because the leaders of both sides had been killed.

Order, and unity was almost restored in the reign of emperor Marco Aurelio. He was the first emperor in generations who was not a wizard.

He had earned his right, because of his ideas and philosophies, instead of military prowess. Known as the Emperor Philosopher, instead of trying to get payback for the slaughter of non magical people, he sought to reunite the most extreme and elitist classes of wizards with muggles, going as far as to commission research and projects that would make magical abilities an universal trait.

And rumor has it, that the project was almost successful.

But it was stopped when wizards that directly opposed the ideals of the emperor, outraged at the idea of magic no longer being an exclusive trait of the elite, unleashed the famous Augustinian plague, which killed off most of the people in charge of the project, and eventually it would take the life of the emperor himself.

After that, the empire collapsed. Wizards had to begin hiding their abilities as they were targeted as threats. And when Christian ideals took over, people who still dared to practice were shut off from society.

The largest school for wizards remained in the byzantine empire during the middle ages and in some places magic was still practiced; strongholds hidden in plain sight, thanks to spells devised to conceal them, like this school for instance; of course in the undiscovered American continent, magic was not suppressed until later at the hands of the inquisition."

Dumbledore took a second to breath, an continued.

"For the next thousand years, our numbers suffered from several reasons: witch hunts, inquisition, religion and shame all contributed. The fanatic Christian ideas of the time made people do barbaric things; some old families died off, in shame of their, so called, satanic trait.

Of course, eventually; some people began to realize that, magic was a more common thing that they had been bad to believe; and with the bubbling revolutions in thought, magical communities began to surface again.

Dumbledore ended his lecture on a heavy note. The classroom was silent, processing what they had heard.

"Of course, that is the simplified version of the subject, and there is more to it that can be encompassed in a mere class. Do with that knowledge what you will" he smiled, his warm, grandfatherly aura returning.

Harry leaned back into his seat. It was certainly an interesting topic, that covered some of the questions that he had yet to ask to anyone.

"That caliguala guy sure was stupid" Ron Muttered besides him; he wholeheartedly agreed. "Hermione" he said to the witch who was busy taking notes at lightning speed.

"Could i take a look at those later? just so that i won't forget?"

There was a murmur of consent from Hermione, who looked to be putting the final touches on her notes.

"If there is a lesson that i would like each and every one of you to meditate on is the following" Dumbledore spoke once more.

Everybody looked at him again.

"An idea or, ideal, no matter how foolish and irrational it might be, can take deep roots in a person's mind, given the right incentive; however, bright, philosophical and righteous ideas, can also take hold of someone's head."

He looked over everybody as he finished, contemplating the students reactions.

"But most importantly, the right man, in the wrong place can make the entire difference in the world" As he said that he made eye contact with Harry, Ron, and Hermione, a very serious expression in his visage.

The trio looked at each other confusedly; obviously he had intended those last words for them more than anyone else.

"That concludes these years classes; have a wonderful summer" cheery tone regained, and with a royalty that only him seemed to be able to pull off, Dumbledore strode out of the classroom.

 **I know, lots of loose ends, but this is just the start**

 **Main pairings are set**

 **Harry/Ginny or Harry/Ginny/Hermione, depends on where the plot takes me**

 **Fleur/OC (Marco)**

 **This is basically A romantic adventure epic with touches of drama**

 **will try to be consistent, and i need a beta**


	2. Chapter 2

**To those wondering, this story is strictly Harry/Ginny & OC/Luna, no cray cray trios or harems**

 **As always, suggestions are appreciated**

 **Reviews are always welcome so go on, tell me what you think.**

 **Reference Hunt!**

 **Can you spot famous movie/videogame catchphrases?**

 **The Essence of The Ethereal**

Chapter 2

Albus Dumbledore walked down an obscure hallway, thinking about what had just transpired. He had given a lesson about history, and in that lesson, he had mentioned several of the dilemmas that had shaped the world, both muggle and magical.

That was not a problem within itself, but the reason why he had done so was important... and it could have potentially disastrous consequences. And yet, it was the best course of action; the best alternative that had been presented to him yet.

And in contrast with the others, this 'plan' didn't necessarily end in tragedy. And while there were many 'ifs' and 'we'll find out how to's' in the so called plan, that admitedly filled him with dreadful unease and, fear for Harry's wellbeing, it was a chance worth taking.

For Harry's and, potentially everybody else's sake, he had to try.

Eventually, he arrived at his office, thanks to the enchanted hallway that was designed to take the headmaster wherever he wanted in the castle.

 _"A truly brilliant piece of work"_ The headmaster thought as he entered his office.

There he found Fawks, loyal as ever, perched in his personal stand.

The phoenix gave a musical thrill when he spotted his owner, who in turn smiled warmly at the magical creature.

With a tired sigh, the Headmaster lowered himself onto his chair behind the desk. He took a second to breath and think, before addressing the young teenager that was patiently sitting on the chair opposite to his.

"It went well" the headmaster started, tiredly "Although i suppose my words could be misinterpreted I'm afraid, given all that has transpired during this year"

The teenager in front of him, a tall, well built for his age boy, shrugged in response "I guess it doesn't matter, so long as they feel that you have something to tell them." The boy's nonchalant voice replied.

"In all honestly it wasn't necessary to send any kind of subliminal message, but i guess we might as well let them think that there is something more going on, after all, every mess that they've gotten themselves into has been because they tend to notice this kind of things "

Dumbledore smiled slightly as he reached for a candy from one of the several plates that rested on top of the desk. "I'm sorry my boy, I've never been good at cloak and dagger tactics" the headmaster winked.

There was a familiarity between the two of them. The boy, who was not older than thirteen, was paying rapt attention to Dumbledore. His brown eyes showed nothing but respect for the old man, but it was without the usual awe that Dumbledore tended receive from younger generations.

At the same time, the grandfather smile that the headmaster used to address his students, and indeed, the boy in front of him, seemed completely genuine.

A smirk adorned the boy's face "I know, but, seeing that you agree with us, it does look like we at least have better chances than anything that you could have come up with"

Dumbledore's smile faded a little "Your organization is certainly... efficient if anything else; and the particular situation that you find yourselves in, might just make it possible for you to succeed, and that does... bring scenarios to life that I've never considered before"

The headmaster paused for a moment, choosing his words. "Marco, I must confess that I am still somewhat... apprehensive; this idea of yours and your people is a, so called, long shot." Dumbledore's words were almost remorseful.

Marco, the boy, leaned forwards. As he did so, his body language, Dumbledore noticed, indicated maturity and discipline. Dumbledore's heart clenched a little; no thirteen year old should have the posture that Marco had... but... the world demanded it.

Instead of ranting excitedly, like a child obsessed with something, Marco took a second to consider the words he had heard.

"Albus" Marco spoke with familiarity to the old wizard.

"Remember that time? when you found me?" there was a touch of something in his voice, something indescribable, much like contrasting emotions perhaps

Dumbledore gave a sad, long nod. Marco continued.

"You told me that, my life, was going to change drastically, and that your deepest regret was that I would not get to experience the childhood that I deserved"

Marco paused, looking at Dumbledore in the eye. Marco's tone and mannerisms were calm, soothing and earnest.

"You were right, it is a shame that I did not grew like the other kids... And yet I do not regret it, because I am being given the tools and opportunities, to have the future that I want for myself."

Marco's voice changed again, as well as his expression. Dumbledore recognized them as Marco's "thoughtful" and "logical" mode.

"In Harry's case, me and the master believe, that weathering the coming storm in his stead, can only be counterproductive in the long run; The sad truth is, that the opportunity that you want Harry to have, to grow up like any kid, was ripped away from him since the beginning."

Marco nudged the ring that laid on the table, and object that, they were both trying to avoid even lying their eyes on.

"It would be unfair to Harry, to deprive him from the opportunity to have whatever adulthood he wants, because we were trying to piece together, his already shattered childhood."

Harry Potter's second year at Hogwarts was on its last minutes.

Students were piling up around the train station at Hogwarts, as each one of them, excited as they were to go back to their homes, tried to get onboard the Hogwarts express.

Harry, Ron and Hermione had managed to secure an empty compartment inside the train, which they had locked as soon as they had dragged all their stuff in.

"Brilliant work at finding us an empty compartment Hermione" Ron grinned, a slightly drowsy look about him, as he plopped down in the seat in front of the girl.

"Mhm" Harry agreed as he finished putting away Hedwig's cage, and sat down as soon as he was done.

A slight tint of pink flooded Hermione's cheeks. "It was nothing really" she said.

"Still, brilliant" Ron insisted with a yawn. "well, since it'll be a few hours before we get home, I better catch up with my sleep" Ron said, no room for debate, as he leaned back into the seat and closed his eyes.

Hermione rolled her eyes with a smile and Harry grinned. Ron had had a bet with Samus Finnegan, which consisted in spending the last two days at Hogwarts without sleeping.

They had a whole galleon in it too, and Ron had made his darnest effort to win, especially since, if he were to loose, he would have had nothing to pay with.

In the end Ron had won, if only by an inch, and at the cost of walking around drowsily making a fool of himself in several occasions.

It didn't take long for him to fall asleep.

Harry considered following suit, as he too had lost some hours of sleep by stewarding his friend around. Before he could though, he felt a tap on his shoulder. Looking around he saw Hermione, motioning him to come closer.

Intrigued, he scooted closer to the girl.

Hermione whispered in his ear. "I've got something for you"

Harry looked at her puzzled as she searched for something in her bag. Perhaps predictably, she pulled out a surprisingly muggle looking, thin book.

Hermione handed it to him.

"It's about wand less magic" she whispered, and harry raised an eyebrow.

"It's not much" she said sadly "Mostly an introduction to the concept" she added as an afterthought

"Hermione this is awesome but" he looked thoroughly at the small book " why?"

Hermione tightened her lips before answering "Fred, George and Ron told me... well, how they found you at the beginning of the year" She hesitated "And, I had read that, wand less magic was something that the ministry can't trace, and I thought that it might be something that you could focus on during summer... to keep close to our world and maybe" she looked away " weather the storm a little bit better"

Harry's eyes widened as she explained her motives. Although he wasn't entirely sure what he was supposed to say, in Harry's mind, it was a brilliant gift.

During the year, more than once they had witnessed the headmaster perform several feats of wand less magic, and, unsurprisingly, had become intrigued by it.

"I've had that book for a couple of weeks now" she murmured "and I´ve yet to get anywhere with it, but then again, it is a barely explored branch of magic." she bit her lip "I thought that, even if you didn't get far, at least you could have it and try during the summer."

A genuine smile spread uncontrollably through Harry's face.

"Thanks Hermione" he whispered earnestly, and proceeded to read the first pages of the book. While he hadn't danced around the subject when directly asked, Harry tried to avoid giving away further details of his rescue at the beginning of the year and of his life with the Dursley's; Hermione, it seemed, had understood almost immediately that his life in the muggle world was less than enjoyable; Ron on the other hand had taken a while to get his head around the concept, but had eventually understood, that not all families were as tightly knit as his. Both of them had looked relieved when he explained to them, that he wasn't beaten or abused in a physical way.

Hermione Ron and his brothers hadn't said anything else about it after he explained what kind of people were the Dursley's.

With the information she was given, Hermione's gift was very, very thoughtful.

The train's whistle announced the departure, and through the compartments in the wagons, the students heard the locomotive roar to life.

Slowly but surely, the train left the station.

Harry, looking through the window, and saw the castle diminish in size, until it finally disappeared from sight. Almost immediately he felt his heart ache. He was leaving the only place in the world where he felt at home.

It would be several hours before they were to reach King's Cross.

Ron slept like a baby on the verge of drooling; quite the comical scene from where Harry was looking, and Hermione had immersed herself into a book, like she always did when they traveled in the Hogwarts express.

For several hours, Harry was left to his own devices. He spent much of his time surfing through the pages of the book that Hermione had gifted him. It was true what she had said; there was no real instruction on how to perform wand-less magic.

It was more of a compilation of ideas and theories about the subject, some of which, integrated aspects and procedures of magic of which he was not yet familiar with, or haven't even heard of. Some of the book's co-authors talked about the possible use of runes or enchantments in the subject of wand less magic, and harry knew full well that those were subjects that were only thought to students from third year and above.

Idly, he wondered if it was too late to change his elective for the next year. Professor McGonagall had mentioned something along the lines of sending her a letter, in case that somebody had re-considered their options during summer.

He shrugged to himself. Runes and some of the other electives that would be available for him in the next year sounded a lot more important (and more interesting) than divination, which, he had only chosen at Ron's recommendation.

If runes or whatever other subject that may be imparted the next year, proved to be helpful with the subject of Wand-less magic, something he was rather interested in, then, ditching divination would be worth a shot.

Hours rolled by, and eventually they reached London, and within minutes, the train station.

Hermione woke Ron up with a nudge, and while a little bit startled, he stood up and began helping to move around all their luggage.

Neither of them bothered harry , who sat quietly in his seat, a lost look on his face. Occasionally, they glanced at him worriedly.

Eventually, everything was accounted for, and Harry finally stood up; He half smiled to both his friends while they dragged their things through the platform and to the muggle world.

A hoard of Weasleys greeted them on the other side. Harry himself received viciously tight hugs from Ron's mother, , who thanked him over and over for his part on Ginny's rescue. He received a strong pat in the shoulder from , and while not as emotional as his wife, he gave harry a slow. approving nod.

Harry said his goodbyes to the Weasley family, thoroughly surprised by the quick hug he got from Ginny herself.

Eventually, Hermione also parted ways, saying that she had agreed on a meeting point with her parents. She left looking back, a slight worried look on her face.

Harry was left alone in the station with a gradually disappearing smile. He sighted when Hedwig hooted in his direction.

"I know girl" he muttered as he got behind the trolley and started pushing his things "It will be a long summer, but, at least i got Hermione's book to keep me entertained."

He smiled. Hermione, Ron, Ginny, the Weasleys, the teachers and the ever-changing castle. He already missed them terribly.

He saw the large form of uncle Vernon waiting at the side of what seemed to be a large, brand new, green car.

Vernon gave a distasteful grunt when he spotted Harry approaching. Without uttering a single word, he opened the trunk of the car, and got in the driver's seat.

Harry, sighing, put his things in the trunk and got in the car with Hedwig's cage on his lap.

"Not a single word boy!" Vernon warned Harry "And keep that bloody owl of yours silent, I'm in no mood to deal with your freakishness right now" Vernon, again, warned as he pulled away from the station.

 _"As if ever"_ Thought harry gloomily, resisting the urge to sigh. A sly idea was born in his head. _"I'm going to go through the book that Hermione gave me, maybe then i can scare the Dursley's into leaving me alone"_

The weeks that followed were what Harry used to expect from living with the Dursleys; a ridiculous list of chores and the frequent taunts from his family. All was normal, except for one thing.

In the late hours of the night, Harry, secretly stayed up to read about wand less magic and (try) to practice. For the most part Harry intended it to be an "activity" to, like Hermione suggested, keep in touch with his magical self.

It was completely by accident, when one night, after a lot of failed attempts, frustration overtook him. With all his energy focused, he flailed with his hand wildly at the marble that he had been trying to move. It was only due to the noise that it produced that Harry noticed, that the marble had moved.


	3. Chapter 3

**I am truly sorry for the delay.**

 **The main reason is that I do not consider my ability in writing to be sufficient in order to express the situations that I come up with in an accurate enough manner, especially since English is my second language.**

 **As for "Wings of Liberty" that is a story that I will update as soon as I go over the first season of Attack on Titan, and I feel like I can achieve the quality that I intended when I started writing.**

 **Since I am working on discipline, which is one of my many faults, you will see updates on a regular basis, that said, getting reviews and feedback goes a long way in terms of motivation.**

 **Chapters are going to get longer, I just didn't want the introductory ones to be a drawl.**

 **This chap is where I go (almost) full AU, and to clarify; my things will happen along the events of the canon, consider those as timestamps**

It was late at night. Harry was awake, working on his summer homework. It was the only time of day in which he could work on his assignments, otherwise, his relatives might realize that he was still doing things pertaining the, so-called freakish world he belonged to.

Like every night, he had retrieved his writing instruments from under the loose floorboard in his room and had started to work as soon he ceased to hear activity in the rest of the house.

He was working on his potions essay, a particularly tricky subject for Harry, especially since professor Snape had no liking of him. Harry had been working on that assignment for several nights, and he had to take a break. Rather than reading again the postcards that his friends had sent him, he decided that it was a good time to practice his wand-less skills.

In the weeks that followed his first breakthrough in the subject, Harry had gotten the hang of moving things around. He had realized that it was more of a matter of mind over matter, rather than using the hands to cast magic. However, employing hand gestures, he found, was a good way to focus on the intent of his magic.

The theatricality of the matter was a welcome bonus in his eyes.

He stood up from the bed, where he usually worked on his homework and stood in the middle of the dark room. He took a second to focus in one of the corners of the room, where a bunch of small trinkets were piled up.

Harry, with dramatic effect, added, extended his hand towards the small pile of objects. There was a slight cyan glimmer, and from the pile, a small wooden box, shakily and slowly floated towards Harry, until it landed on his outstretched hand.

Heavy footsteps rang in the hallway. Harry stopped moving his hand and held his breath while he carefully eyed the closed door of his room, looking for any indication that his uncle might come in without announcing himself.

For a minute Harry stood motionless in the middle of his room until the footsteps were lost in the stairs. Silently releasing his breath, Harry closed his eyes and once again concentrated.

His mind left his own body and searched for the object that he held tightly in his hand. What first became apparent was the wood that made up the box. Old and dry, with a rugged surface and the occasional brass bolt that held the little box together.

Next, was the weight of it. Heavier than it should have been, his mind easily recognized it as one of the small trinkets that he had managed to smuggle out of Hogwarts and into the muggle world. It was a small box, enchanted to hold many, almost an endless amount of small things in it, but definitely nothing that normally wouldn't fit in it.

Naturally, Harry had hundreds of small things in it, but the weight didn't come from all those things, or so he had been told so by the salesman. Wherever it came from, Harry had no idea.

There was something more to it. And it had only revealed itself to Harry a few nights ago. He had been practising to move small things with wand-less magic and had been doing so for days on end in the summer. He did not dare try something bigger, lest he might get caught by his family, or worse, the ministry of magic.

Therefore, relegated to small trinkets, he had moved almost everything that could be moved in his bedroom, to the point that, it had become a habit for him to simply wiggle his fingers if he wanted a quill or one of his favoured toy soldiers.

And so it happened, that when he had a need for one of the many things that resided inside of his enchanted box, he simply wiggled his fingers for the box.

And he noticed something different.

It was around the box itself, but it was also within it as if it were a part of it. Like a second skin around the box, clinging to it, made up of what Harry could only describe as a miasma of raw willpower.

The miasma had a familiar feel to it; like the "feel" that hovered around in Hogwarts and its many iterations of magical artefacts, or like the feeling he got whenever he cast a spell with his wand.

An idea sparked in his head.

What if willpower was the source of all magic?

In the weeks that followed, Harry found himself entranced by the feel of things through wand-less magic. Wild theories about magic sprouted in his head like weeds, which refused to leave him alone and kept him awake into the early hours of the morning. These ideas and theories about all things magical, Harry made sure to write down, to research them later in the school year.

He felt the box, analyzing the sensation, feeling how it reacted to his wand-less abilities. He had tried to feel for the same miasma in many different objects, only succeeding in finding it on things related to magic, like his wand or sometimes his own skin.

Harry opened his eyes. The box was hovering a good distance from his hand, level with his face. It twitched, sometimes erratically, and it spun seemingly endlessly. Harry smiled to himself, despite the shoddy control he had over the box, as it was the first time had managed to hold something steadily in the air.

The box lowered itself onto Harry's hand, shimmering with a light shade of cyan when Harry released his wand-less hold over it, a side effect that Harry could only theorize to be caused by the different application of magic over it. The smile on Harry's face widened at sight of the brief flash of colour; if nothing else, it was further proof of his success on what was an almost an untouched field of study.

He went to bed that day, with the nagging feeling at the back of his mind that, him, somehow had changed everything for himself, and those around him.

ooo

That day was going to be horrible, Harry decided with anticipation. Of course, it was always like that whenever the Dursley's invited aunt Marge over for the week. Harry did suspect that the task of entertaining Marge was as daunting for the Dursley's as it was for him, although, knowing his family, they would never admit it.

It was a good thing that the Dursley's tried so hard to impress Marge whenever she came, otherwise he wouldn't have gotten the chance to trick his uncle onto signing the permission for him to visit Hogsmeade during the school year. The downside is that he had to play according to Vernon's conditions.

The day Marge was due to arrive started with the mandatory chores he had to take care of, in order to avoid incurring in the wrath of his familiars, plus whatever else they had in store for him for the special occasion. By the time everything was properly set up for Marge's arrival, Harry's hands were red and sore, as he had cleaned just about anything that was worth cleaning in the house, such as the floors and the windows, tables, vases and bathrooms. However, the nightmare truly started when aunt Marge arrived.

She barged into the house, practically screaming about all sorts of nonsense. She greeted the Dursleys with copious amounts of affection and manhandling, ignoring him completely. She was followed by her dog, a small bulldog, which immediately proceeded to undo all of Harry's hard work with its muddy paws.

She practically ignored Harry; Besides thrusting her handbag into Harry's chest, and making a snide remark about him.

An angry whisper came from aunt Petunia once Marge had gone deeper into the house, and commanded him to clean up after the dog and to make sure that Marge's every need was taken care of. Sullenly he complied, and for the first hours of Marge's stay, he crawled around fixing all the mess that both Marge and the dog achieved.

The next few days were horrible for Harry. Dealing with the Dursley's was hard enough on its own, but having Aunt Marge over tended to escalate things to a whole other level. Particularly since she had no reservation in bath mouthing him, or his parents.

The Dursley's often avoided at all costs the subject of his parents, often sneering at him or, dismissing him before they had to talk about them. Sometimes Harry thought, it seemed that Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia were afraid to mention both James and Lily Potter, almost as if fearing the magic that surrounded that end of the family.

Dudley on his part didn't seem frightened or disgusted with the subject. Whenever it came up, Harry had noticed, Dudley actually seemed to stop to pay attention, as if curious more than anything else.

But Marge didn't possess any knowledge regarding the magical world or the true circumstances of Lily's and James's deaths, and thus didn't hold back.

More than once Harry had to remind himself of his promise towards his uncle. And yet, to behave completely normal was one thing; to withstand verbal assault was another.

By the beginning of the fifth day, and the last of the days that Marge was staying with the Dursley's, Harry was at his wit's end.

That morning, Harry refused to leave his bedroom until he had to cook breakfast, and if he could avoid it, better.

Anxiously, while sitting on the edge of his bed, he toyed with a marble. He made it roll on the floor, guiding it with his finger, indicating it where he wanted it to go.

Obediently, the marble rolled around, repeating the patterns that Harry's finger drew in the air.

It was an exercise of concentration. The more precise the movement that Harry wanted to achieve, the more control he had to exert over the object he was trying to move.

The marble, being a sphere, wanted to move as soon as anything touched it, so Harry had to do his best to direct it precisely where he intended.

At that point, wand-less magic seemed to be more than anything a form of telekinesis, although he had yet to try to do anything else than moving things around.

The complicated exercise had its use. Besides the added practice he was getting, Harry hoped that by the time he had to get out of his room, he would be too tired to pay attention to whatever insults Margaret could think of.

All he needed was to wait until Marge left for the train station, and all would be fine.

If only.

Harry exited his room quietly; tiptoeing all the way to the bathroom. He was determined to be the first one in the household to shower; There was no way he was bathing with cold water again.

It was a quick affair, and he was out of the bathroom before anyone else was awake.

The day started with him readying up breakfast; The Dursleys had made it clear that they wanted to come down from their rooms to find everything ready to be eaten.

When it came to preparing the food, Harry didn't really mind, as he had found dozens of several little things that he could with his wand-less ability. It was dead useful to clean runaway drops sauce or oil for example, and while he couldn't wash the dishes while cooking just yet, he was enjoying his little act of rebellion.

He managed to get the table set and have the food served just as the Dursley's, along with Marge, waddled sleepily into the dining room.

Vernon and Petunia grunted at Harry, almost sneering as they did so. Dudley dove straight in; for all the hell that he made Harry pass through the years, not once had he complained of the food.

"Hah!" Marge exclaimed as she sat down heavily on one of the chairs.

"Look at this!" she gestured at the served food "looks like the boy can actually behave like a civilized person!" she greened toothily at Harry, who forced a tight-lipped smile.

"That school, Saint Brutus you said it was called? Marvellous job they are doing; they've finally beaten some sense into the boy!" she said to Vernon, as she started eating.

Vernon smiled in his overly affable, trick the client, kind of way.

"Oh yes!" he boasted "They've got this special punishment method that they´ve implemented at my recommendation" he smiled boastfully "At the beginning they weren't convinced about my methods, but they eventually realized, that it is the only way to deal with people like Harry" He said, almost earnestly .

Marge smiled maliciously but said nothing.

Harry on his part, merely raised an eyebrow at the mumbo jumbo that his uncle was inventing. It would do him no good to intervene in that conversation.

"Splendid!" Marge said after taking a bite "You hear that boy? Your uncle has spent so much effort and resources into your education" she sneered at Harry "You better be grateful!"

"Yes, Aunt Marge" came Harry's almost nonchalant reply, who did not look up from his own plate, lest he might provoke Marge to continue.

"Vernon, will you be a dear and pass me the information on that school? I have a lot of friends that would be just delighted to send their brats into an institution like that"

Harry, out of the corner of his eye, saw his uncle pale considerably.

ooo

Marge was supposed to leave the Dursley's house at five in the evening so that she would arrive on time at the train station.

To get to that, however, there was still a meal on the way.

Harry, silently, almost tiptoeing around Marge and the Dursley's, focused on preparing the said meal. He did his best to draw as little attention to himself. Ever since breakfast, Marge had been gunning for him, trying to provoke him, taunting him at every little opportunity.

He almost had let his facade slip once already, earlier in the morning, when she was talking about Harry's potential friends and how unsavoury they had to be.

Not uttering a word to defend his friends took everything in him.

Since then, Harry had avoided her at all costs, earning sharp reprimands from Aunt Petunia, but managing to avoid an accident in the meanwhile.

Now, cooking, Harry had to hear everything that was said about him, his friends and family.

The Dursley's and Marge were sitting around the table in the dining room; the conversation was lively and... jolley.

Uncle Vernon talked about Grunings, his company, and about every major obstacle that he had to overcome. Marge listened with half interest while she drank her wine, and Petunia looked love stuck as she heard her husband talk.

Dudley was paying more attention to the television, more than anything else.

For a moment, as he looked at them through his glasses, to Harry, the Dursley's were just as any other family, like the Weasley's or how Hermione told him her family behaved.

The image was shattered as soon as Marge looked his way.

"What are you looking at boy?" Her ugly sneer and disgust filled eyes, made Harry feel like an undesirable pest for a second.

"Nothing, aunt Marge" Harry whipped his head back at what he was cooking.

"Hmpf" he heard from behind him.

"Insufferable boy" Marge almost spat out. "But of course is not his fault isn't it? It's his mother's"

Harry froze on the spot.

"I see this happen all the time with dogs" she emphasized as she ruffled her dog's, Ripper, scruff "If there is something wrong with the bitch, then there is something wrong with the pup"

Vernon, Petunia, and Dudley stiffened but said nothing.

"Vernon" Marge continued "What did you say that their parents worked as?" she said sweetly

"Uhh, nothing! unemployed!" he exclaimed jovially, all the while drilling a hole in Harry's back with his eyes.

Harry, robotically, forced himself to go through the motions of cooking.

"Ah I see how it is" Marge sneered "Good for nothing parents, good for nothing boy, it's that simple really; it's only a shame that they didn't leave the world before they had a child, still, good riddance I say"

Marge was about to take a sip of her drink when the glass cup she was holding violently exploded in her hand.

The Dursley's all reacted alarmed, eyeing Harry suspiciously.

"Oh don't worry dear," Marge said to Vernon "I have a VERY strong grip" she smiled as she wiped herself.

Harry had to keep himself from shaking. One thing was to badmouth him, and another was to badmouth his parents.

He wanted to explode, to scream and shout and defend his real family. He was about to do it also.

But he stopped himself in the last second. Whether it was because of the exhaustion he felt from the morning's exercise, or because trying to decipher Hermione's book had thought him patience and reasoning, he realized that he could do better. _"This is as good a chance as any,"_ he thought, remembering that he had at his disposal wandless magic.

"Hey, boy!" Marge called for him in the background "Clean this up!" she demanded.

Harry closed his eyes in concentration; He had to play his cards right if he wanted the Dursley's to leave him alone. White hot fury would only show them that they could get under his skin.

He couldn't harm the Dursley's either, not that he intended to, but accidental magic didn't do that. If something were to happen to them, everything would point to him.

Patiently, all the while ignoring the increasingly furious shouts from Marge, he tried to find a solution. It came, in the memory of a lecture from the beginning in his second year, with Professor Flitwick.

 _"Emotion is an important factor in the casting of magic. The angrier one's state is when casting, the more uncontrollable the spells become with a slight increase of power._

 _Depression on the other hand, and I mean true depression, will make it almost impossible for a wizard to cast._

 _It stands to reason that, mastery of one's emotion, is a pivotal milestone in your mastery of magic._

 _Focusing carefully on different emotions can yield different results, and doing one's best to suppress, other, detrimental states of mind, can provide a huge edge, especially in combat._

 _Now I, being an ex-duelling champion, have developed my own tactics._

 _Lacing your emotions, with hard logic, an assessment of a situation, and unbreakable determination, is the key to success._

 _Don't let your feelings overtake you, instead, use them to fuel your own power, and leave your mind clear to direct that power in the best possible way"._

Harry opened his eyes, steely determination in them.

"I need to get out of this house" he whispered to himself.

He knew what he had to do. He focused fiercely on his intent.

 _"I need to get out of here, I cant mess it up!"_ he roared in his mind

The initial hot rage caused by Marge's taunts had disappeared, and in its place, cold, decisive, fury.

A smirk adorned his face for a second before it was replaced by an almost emotionless facade. He turned around slowly, almost menacingly.

As he did so, every glass cup, plate or window shattered. Lights started to flicker around the house as he finally faced Marge, an expression of utter contempt in his face.

"You don't have the right to speak like that about my parents" Harry spoke calmly, clearly and in a way that could make the devil reconsider his intentions.

Marge, seemingly oblivious to the display in front of her, rose up from her seat menacingly.

"What are you saying boy!" she roared, her face red as a cherry. She took several steps forward as if to slap him.

Harry was having none of that.

He was in overdrive.

To make sure that Marge didn't miss the cause this time, Harry extended his arm with his hand wide opened.

He closed his hand right in front of her face, and when he did so, all chaos broke loose.

Every surviving glass item imploded, paintings were torn to shreds, electronics short-circuited and cracks appeared along the walls.

Marge stopped dead in her tracks, her face paling considerably, just as the Dursley's, who had taken cover, and dove to the ground.

"Y-You demon" she managed to utter out.

"No" Harry's predatorily face had disappeared, and instead a calm, contemptuous one had taken its place. Harry, full of poise, cleared dust from his clothes "Just a Wizard"

Marge remained frozen on the spot.

Harry waved his hands in the air, smirking, and the whole lot of his luggage for Hogwarts broke out of the cupboard where Vernon had locked it and piled itself neatly in the middle of the room. Hedwig's cage floated from upstairs and set itself on top of the pile.

The slip of paper that constituted the permit for the outings at Hogsmeade, along with a pen, made its way in front of Vernon, who was still shaking on the ground.

Harry walked up to him, glass Shards cracking under his feet.

"It's simple really... You sign that, and it'll be the last time you see me. Harry knew he had achieved the impression he wanted to make when Vernon flinched at his words.

Vernon didn't hesitate. Hands shaking, he signed the slip, and handed it to harry without looking at him in the eye, his face paler than Harry had ever seen it.

"Perfect!" Harry chirped and took the slip of paper with a flourish.

He took hold of his things; in one hand the large case that he used to carry all his clothes, on his back a backpack with the books from the previous year and his wand, and lastly, on the other hand, the empty cage for his owl. With a spring in his step, he walked up to the entrance door of privet drive number four.

Before exiting, he turned around and bowed deeply "Thank you for the hospitality"

ooo

Harry walked at a fast pace down the street. He knew full well that he was in an odd state of mind, one which came with an odd level of excitement that he had only experienced before when fighting the basilisk.

He knew that he had just executed a very powerful bout of magic; How? he wasn't sure, but it was best if he left the scene before anyone noticed.

He also knew the feeling that had begun to creep up his spine.

He had never moved so many things, especially large things, at the same time with his wandless abilities. Moving a marble alone could be exhausting, and he had just exploded the living room and commanded almost everything he owned around the house.

He knew it was just a matter of time before exhaustion overtook him.

Which was a problem, because he was feeling another thing at the back of his neck.

It started earlier when he passed the street of Magnolia Crescent, a nearby street that intersected with the street in which the Dursley's lived in.

His brisk pace had carried him fast along the streets of the British suburbs. The crisp night air, old houses and the dimly lit streets made up for a picturesque scene that would lull anyone into a sense of security. It was only because his senses were still haywire from his previous display of magic, that he noticed that something was not right.

He stopped to look around when he heard the pitter patter of footsteps that belonged to an animal. But whatever was hiding in the shadows, was doing so very well, because Harry couldn't make out anything. Not behind the bushes, not between the parked cars and nowhere along the road.

But harry recognized the sensation too well.

He got it for the first time when Aragog's offspring had begun creeping around him and Ron when they had gone into the forbidden forest. The next time was when he had been running from the Basilisk among the several passageways of the chamber of secrets.

He was being stalked. And he was still feeling like he was about to pass out.

Harry took off running, leaving his luggage behind.

 _"Thank Merlin I sent Hedwig with the letter for McGonagall earlier"_ Harry managed to think as he scrambled as fast as he could through the streets.

As he ran, his vision began to crawl, the familiar magical exhaustion numbing his limbs and freezing his lungs.

 _"I have to hide!"_ Harry realized between heavy breaths with increasing desperation. He didn't get a chance, as he heard the pitter patter of footsteps behind him.

He looked back, and to his horror, a large black dog with shiny, piercing, red eyes was running towards him. Worse, a miasma of dense black shadows followed the dog, blanketing with total darkness everything it touched.

Harry, panicking, took off again in the direction of a nearby park, fighting exhaustion all along the way.

He tumbled through the first row of trimmed hedges surrounding the park, and kept running; But try as he might, the dog's footsteps were getting closer and closer.

Upon the distance, Harry saw a hill where a set of swings stood up, moving with the wind, and tried to run for them, in hopes of finding safe haven at the other side.

He didn't get far. Harry felt a sharp, piercing pain shoot up from his ankle and up his leg. He tried to force himself to keep running, but his legs failed him. He fell down on all fours, on the grass leading up to the hill.

He waited for the pain of another, vicious, bite with closed eyes, but seconds passed and it never came. N

With the last strength left in him, he craned his neck upwards and, compelled by some mysterious force, looked straight at the top of the hill.

On it, with the light casting at the top through the recently formed mist, a tall ghastly figure stood straight on top of the hill.

A skeletal hand was outstretched away from the veil of darkness that enveloped the figure, and with it, "it" was caressing the head of the black dog.

The figure turned his neck to look at him, and Harry clear as day heard a whisper in his ear.

 _"Descendent of the Peverell"_

 _"The Peverell?"_ Harry asked himself, before passing out.

ooo

The first thing Harry noticed was that he was still breathing. Crisp, cold air filled his lungs with each breath.

 _"At least I'm alive,"_ Harry thought sarcastically.

The next thing he noticed was that the pain in his leg was gone, completely. That awoke him with a startle. He scrambled quickly, pulling up his trouser leg and felt desperate, one, for his leg to still be there, and two, for a wound.

He found his leg, but not a wound.

Startled, Harry looked around.

He was in some sort of wooden cottage and had been laying in what seemed to be an old mattress.

It was lit by a small, seemingly portable stove that was set in the middle of the room. It was largely empty except that all of his stuff was piled up unceremoniously in one corner.

There was something else. He wasn't feeling tired like he did when he managed to start moving things without a wand. In fact, he was feeling fresh and renewed. The mental exhaustion and weariness that came with withstanding Marge's verbal assault still lingered at the back of his mind, although it wasn't enough to be considered.

The door to the cabin opened up suddenly, making Harry jump in his place.

In came a boy that couldn't be too older than him. With short hair and pale skin, he was dressed in a simple muggle attire, much like the one, he saw people wear at king's cross.

Despite being a total stranger, Harry decided that he wasn't particularly afraid of him, or of his situation for the matter.

"Excuse me?" Harry asked, his voice only cracking up a bit.

The stranger startled turned to look at Harry with a snap. As soon as he noticed Harry in his sitting position, he smiled, brown eyes flaring with what Harry could only describe as relief.

"Blimy Harry" The stranger's voice rang "Finally woke up eh? good, it wouldn't do to have you die on my watch"

Harry straightened up "N-no it wouldn't" Harry's voice cracked a little bit, intrigued by the familiarity that the stranger was showing towards him. "Who are you, what happened?"

"Oh that's right," Said the stranger as he sat near the stove on the side opposite to Harry.

"Well my name is Marco" he extended his hand to harry, which he gingerly took "And I'm an Auror tasked with the protection of VIP's, specifically you"

"I'm a VIP?" asked Harry, surprised

"Boy who lived and everything" Marco shrugged as he set a pot with water over the stove.

"But why do I need someone to protect me?" Asked Harry curiously, although he had a suspicion of why.

"Sirius Black, the escaped convict of Azkaban; nobody is really sure why he escaped, other than to gain his freedom, but in the years before now, he'd never shown any indication that he wanted to escape before"

Marco dumped a can of beans into the water and looked at Harry with a pointed expression "Although rumour has it that, in the nights before his escape, he was heard muttering 'he is at Hogwarts' over and over"

"A-t Hogwarts? Whose at Hogwarts?" Harry asked curiously

"Lots of important family heirs go to Hogwarts, and well, there is also you "Marco finished that sentence with a shrug.

Harry remained silent, thinking over Marco's words.

"Real scary night isn't it? Marco suddenly asked, stirring the beans in the pot.

"Y-yhea" Harry agreed, not sure of what to say.

"Huh, I wasn't expecting you to just bolt out of your house you know? much else to take off running like that all suddenly, gave me a really good scare you know?"

"Sorry..." Harry apologized unsurely "Was it you following me then?"

"Well, I and that dog" Marco blurted out with a shrug. "I imagine my surprise when I find my escapee ward being chased by a grim of all things, try to explain that to your superiors"

Harry who was now sitting opposite from Marco round the stove asked "A grim?"

Harry remembered the glowing eyes of the dog. It had had an otherworldly appearance Harry realized, going over his memories, almost as if it didn't quite belong in the world.

A shiver ran through his spine.

"Uhum" Marco muttered, tasting the beans from the pot "Also known as a hellhound around this parts, an omen of death according to the local folk; according to the archives in the ministry, they only appear when, one, a great disaster is coming, two, you were disturbing a cemetery, or three, lord death happens to be hanging around"

"Lord death?" Harry asked, a knot forming in his stomach as he remembered the otherworldly whisper " _Descendant of the Peverell"_

"Yup" Marco chirped while handing Harry a plate full of cooked beans. "And seeing that I haven't seen none of the other omens of a great disaster, and I didn't catch you grave robbing, well, I'm kind of surprised you are still alive, to be honest"

Harry poked at his beans in thought, then "You seem awfully nonchalant about the fact that I was being chased by a hellhound"

Marco shrugged "I'm an Auror; I've seen some pretty fucked up shit. And ghosts, apparitions and omens usually have a lot more to do with things than you'd like to believe."

Harry raised an eyebrow, but said nothing and started eating

"At any rate" Marco continued "Seeing the little scene that happened at your relative's house, I don't think you intend to go back there, do you?"

Harry froze in his spot, an anxious look crossed his face. Whatever had compelled him to react so strongly made him ct completely out of character.

Well, if he was honest with himself, not entirely; Time and time again, scenarios like that had played in his head ever since he understood that he wanted out of that place

"Don't worry; the Dursley's are fine, and there was no wand use detected so you should be in the clear"

"That's weird," Harry said "Last year I got a warning from the ministry just because a house elf dropped a cake on my uncle" Harry confessed

Marco raised an eyebrow "Do you or the Dursley's legally own a house elf?"

"No"

"Then there's your answer," Marco said between bites of food "The mechanisms that the ministry uses to find out about underage magic are really there to detect magic that 'should not be there'" Marco explained

"Sounds plausible," Harry said, "But why are you telling me this?"

"Is not exactly a secret" Marco answered as he finished his dish "And I'm not exactly a lot older than you eh? you've just turned thirteen, I've just turned fourteen; The Auror department had to circumvent a whole bunch of rules to get me active" He shrugged "I learnt a lot from that"

Marco, from his pockets, popped up a couple of cans of and handed one to Harry, he then opened his and took a sip.

"Are the Aurors some sort of magical police?" asked Harry eyeing the strange fizzy drink

"Kind off, more like the Sherlock Holmes of the magical world; we investigate, research, patrol, attack defend, etcetera; in short, jacks of all trades" Marco answered after having gulped down his soda in one drink.

"How does one get to be an Auror at fourteen then?" Came Harry's question.

Marco paused for a second, briefly turning serious and thoughtful. "Is not... Normal... In my case, well let's say it involves a very sad story that led to a very particular circumstance, that led to another circumstance and I'm now here... you know, kind of private stuff" Marco said apologetically at Harry

Before Harry could reply Marco continued

"Sorry for the accommodations and food," Marco said as he rummaged through his own things "I wasn't expecting guests" He procured a bar of chocolate and handed it to Harry. "That should get you going for a while"

"You live here?" Harry asked, giving a careful taste to the drink after having pocketed the chocolate.

"Well not exactly, but I had to find a place to look after you without being detected, it was all short notice you see? At any rate, we better get going; word would have spread out that you are not with the Dursley's, the minister will have a fit if he doesn't hear from you soon."

"Going where?" Asked Harry, standing up after Marco, ignoring his wobbly feet.

"The Leaky Cauldron" Marco answered, putting on a black raincoat.

It was there when Harry noticed that there were some odd things about Marco. He was tall, about a head and a half taller than him. And before he put on the raincoat, Harry noticed the muscles on Marco's arm, straining against the fitting shirt.

Marco filled the raincoat well with his broad shoulders harry noticed. Overall Marco looked older except that his face was still young, and all the facial hair that he could boast was that of a shaggy pin on the sides of his face.

"I'll be outside" Marco indicated "Get all your stuff and make sure you don't leave anything, I'll have to burn this place to the ground eliminate any trace of you being here; with people like Sirius you can never know"

The easy-going attitude that Marco had had with him until then, had transformed into some sort of military rigidness that was plain odd in a fourteen-year-old.

Harry went for his stuff, double checking that everything was in place and nothing had fallen off. He exited the cottage and spotted Marco by a boat near a river a few meters away from where he was.

"We are goingallongon the river?" Asked Harry as Marco loaded both his and Harry's stuff on the rowboat.

"Mhm" Consented Marco. "Usually, to move fast in this kind of situations we would use brooms or the Knight bus, but with men like Sirius Black we can't run that risk"

Marco finished loading the boat and signalled Harry to get in.

"Why? why men like him"

Marco positioned himself in the rowing position and looked at Harry.

"I don't know how much you know about Sirius Black Harry; He may or may not be a madman, but what's undeniable is that he is smart, and what's worse is that he used to be an Auror, that means that he knows exactly how magical transport work."

He heard Marco clap his hands and saw the cottage light aflame with white fire. Marco then took the paddles in his hands and started rowing.

"Relax Harry, we should be there by the morning"


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

 **I'm making this story for the people that will enjoy it; so long as there are people who like it, i shall continue.**

 **Thanks for the support! I'm glad that there are people who really like what I have written of this story**

 **:)**

 **ooo**

Marco's attitude had changed somewhat since they left the small cottage in where Harry had woken up, after his encounter with Death's Grim.

Harry noticed that Marco had become a great deal less chatty, and while he was rowing, his eyes darted from bank to bank, studying their surroundings with practiced efficiency.

Despite having mentioned that he was an Auror for the Ministry of magic, Harry still found almost everything in Marco at odds with what his idea of what a fourteen year old should be. The most immediate question that popped up in Harry's mind about Marco, was his still hidden background.

Wizards often did things that would be considered outlandish, at best, to muggles; Yet, almost all those things had a reason.

They used oil lanterns to light their houses, owls to communicate with each other, and brooms to travel, but that was because electronics tend to malfunction around magically charged areas.

They wore robes and tunics for simple reasons. Most wizards were fond of the flair in them, which they didn't seem to find in muggle clothes.

And, to those who practiced disciplines which involved a lot of crafting and manual labor, like brewing potions, or enchanting items, could quite easily add lots of pockets to a robe, while not so much in a suit.

But Harry had yet to find an instance in which a minor was allowed to skip his schooling, much less get into a position in the government. Marco was a subject of intrigue for Harry.

He had been quite laidback while talking to Harry after he had found him, informal even. He had talked to Harry about the situation he was in, and about the Grim like it was no big deal.

But as soon as they had set a foot out of the cabin, his demeanor had changed instantly to one of an adult.

ooo

It was a good thing that The Dursley's lived quite near London. It had taken them less than an hour to get to the Thames. How? Harry was not sure; they had moved through a labyrinth of small rivers whose existence, Harry was not aware of.

Although he wouldn't put it past wizards to build an entire canal system that was perfectly hidden from muggles.

"Um Marco?" Harry drew his guardian's attention, as he seemed to have calmed down a bit, now that they were in the grate river.

Still not completely back to his previous "informal" attitude, Marco focused on Harry wordlessly.

"You mentioned the Knight bus earlier, what's that?" Harry asked curiously. During their brief meeting, Marco had talked about some things about the magical world, that were new to Harry.

Marco answered between labored breaths as he rowed.

"To put it simply, it is a bus, a magical one, that wizards, weather stranded, lost or plain lazy, can call at almost any moment"

Marco paused his rowing to breath "You hail it just like you would a taxi, only that instead of stretching out your hand, you use your wand"

Marco procured a water bottle from the bottom of the boat, he took a couple of sips before grabbing the paddles and continued rowing.

"It can take you to almost anywhere in the united kingdom; although it charges extra for the trip to Ireland" Marco puffed a little between sentences. "It would have been the ideal transport method to get to the Leaky Cauldron, problem is, that they keep a log of everybody that uses their service; cant risk it, Black knows about it I'm sure"

They kept going along the river. Marco took a moment to rest, as it seemed that their destination was located down the river. Harry asked a couple of more questions to Marco; about the Grim and his job as an Auror. Marco seemed content in answering, going into detail about what he knew about the lore of Grims and telling Harry a bit on cases he had worked in.

"... and i didn't exactly escape unscathed, nope, i still have a scar in my back, the bastard sure liked his knifes." Marco grinned toothily. He stroked his chin, looking thoughtful "I did learn a couple of new tricks from him though"

Eventually, Marco had to start rowing again; with a bit of effort, he took them near one of the walls of the river, until they reached a spot, that mysteriously seemed to have no current whatsoever; in fact, the water in that particular spot wasn't moving at all, not by the wind and not by the presence of the boat.

Marco suddenly dropped the paddles into the inside of the boat, and sighed long and heavily. The pause in their journey and in the steady rhythm that they had had up until that point, made Harry look quizzically at Marco.

Through his glasses, Harry saw Marco hunched over and in a thoughtful position.

Suddenly, a loud, screeching noise started coming of Marco, alongside a warm red glow that shone through the openings on Marco's raincoat.

"Yep, just as I feared" Marco drew another long sigh after the noise had died down. Harry looked quizzically at him, not quite sure why the noise and glow had come from him.

He was about to ask, when Marco suddenly straightened up.

"Listen Harry, before we continue, there are some things that you should know" Marco said wearily after some seconds of pondering.

Harry leaned forwards, curious. It had been an eventful night for Harry, a night that raised a lot of questions, and in general piqued his curiosity.

Marco, with an air of command and authority that didn't quite fit him yet, addressed Harry.

Leaning forwards also, as if to keep the conversation private Marco began.

"Harry, there is a lot more going on at the moment than most people are led to believe; Sirus's escape is just the tip of the iceberg. I know that you have no reason to trust me, or to believe anything I say. But pleas trust me" Marco said, plea evident in his eyes.

"This year is going to change a lot of things for you, and if we don't play our cards right, a lot of things are going to change for the world, and not for the better I'm afraid. I want you to be on your guard at all times especially in Diagon Alley."

Marco paused suddenly and turned his head around listening like a Meerkat. Marco, slowly, slithered his hand into his right pocket.

Some voices were overheard on top of the river wall, but faded away after some time.

Harry watched Marco in his "protector" role with slight bewilderment etched in his face. Up until then, it hadn't really dawn on Harry how "real" the issue with Sirius Black was. So far, his experiences within the magical world were filled with magic, enchanted artifacts and terrifying monsters. But Harry was beginning to realize that there was more to it.

Dangerous people, politics and mystery had begun to integrate into Harry's perception of that world.

When previously everything had been solved by Dumbledore, and stayed in Hogwarts; out there was another person, tasked with Harry's protection, tiptoeing around something that potentially involved the entire world.

It felt surreal in a way that, it all felt too real.

Marco relaxed his stance once he couldn't hear anything else. He raised his eyebrow a bit after witnessing Harry's bewilderment, but didn't comment on it.

As if nothing had happened, Marco continued.

"You saw that red glow and heard the screech right?"

Harry nodded with intrigue, still slightly off put by his realizations. Marco unbuttoned his raincoat, and showed the inner flap, where lots of tiny little devices of all sorts hung.

"These things Harry, are tied to the spell that monitors your house, and detects magic from your wand; when you left the house tonight, a warning was sent to the ministry.

This devices that I have here, are set to detect if the information relayed by the spell went anywhere else than to the ministry, and seeing that they fired off, we can safely assume that _someone_ knows you are not at the Dursley's house."

Harry's stomach dropped. There really was someone out there interested in his every move, monitoring him.

Eyes wide with worry, Harry asked "W-ho would be that interested in me, i-it's just me, Harry..." The last bit was said in a whisper, as realization dawned on him.

"Harry Potter, yes, indeed you are... That means, Harry, that anybody who might have empathized with you-know-who, has a bone to pick with you.

Some are discreet and clever, some others will be more brash and, in the short run, more dangerous; that's why I'm here, to make sure that you are protected, until you can take care of yourself"

Marco said that with an air of empathy that cached the attention of Harry, Marco's expression was a curious one.

His brown eyes were piercing and clever as if planning his next move carefully. His visage, hidden in the darkness of the night gave him a dangerous aura. Not a threatening one, but it was one that belonged to a man, who knew how to get what he wanted.

It was a complete contrast with the laidback teenager that Harry had met just an hour earlier. The fact that he was only a year older than him was unsettling.

"The sooner you get ready to face these kind of people, and you will face them, weather it is by your decision or theirs, you will have more control over your future, and trust me, you deserve a future in where you pull the strings of your own life, but that will not happen as long as you continue stumbling in the dark."

Marco's words were puzzling, intriguing even. Harry felt as if he had only been told a mere fragment of an entire conversation. He understood what had been said to him, but not the context, and certainly not the larger implications.

What was happening and how did it involve him at all?

Marco procured a small envelop from one of his pockets and handed it to Harry. It was sealed with a blue wax seal, a cat being the symbol engraved in the wax.

"I need to make sure everything is okay Harry" he pointed at the artifacts hanging from the inside of his raincoat for clarification.

"There are several Aurors already stationed at Diagon Alley, as long as you stay there, you should be safe until you leave for Hogwarts, as for me, if you don't see me, or hear from me before you board the Hogwarts express, I need you to deliver that envelope to Albus Dumbledore, okay?"

Harry nodded wide eyed, tucking hastily the envelop in his backpack.

"Now, we are very near the Leaky Cauldron... Do me a favor, you see those protruding bricks near you? the ones that stand out in the walls of the river? tap on them as if they were the entrance to Diagon alley"

Harry looked at the river wall besides him, pulled his wand hesitantly and poked at random patterns.

Almost immediately, the material that made the side of the river retreated and left a smooth ramp that was level with the boat.

With practiced efficiency, Marco unloaded the boat, bringing Harry's luggage up to the street that ran parallel to the Thames.

Harry looked around, recognizing his whereabouts. They were about three blocks away from the Leaky Cauldron; Harry remember the pub being fairly near the London bridge, which he had in sight.

Tucking his hands into his pockets, and still looking around compulsively, Marco led Harry to the entrance of the establishment.

Standing in the doorframe, Marco turned to Harry.

"Remember, we are not quite sure what is going on yet; the only relatively safe place at the moment Diagon Alley, so don't go out okay?" Marco said patronizingly.

Harry nodded, feeling that he was in no position to argue, and wasn't even sure he wanted to. With a quick "goodbye" Harry headed into the pub.

ooo

Marco waited patiently at the entrance of The Leaky Cauldron, looking around for some time, and listening intently. Nothing happened for the whole twenty minutes that he stood there.

Nodding to himself, Marco took off in the direction in where he had left the boat, walking somewhat leisurely along the streets.

Not long after, he reached the boat, where Albus Dumbledore sat patiently, waiting for him.

Marco boarded the boat unceremoniously and sat back into his rowing position; He took another sip from the bottle of water that he had left inside the boat, before addressing the headmaster.

"That went well" Came Marco's sarcastic voice.

"Eventful night I take it?" Dumbledore's old voice rang in the darkness, mirth laced within it.

"A weird one" Marco replied, contemplating the events of the last hours. "You know, everything had been fine for the last days; bitch of an aunt shows up to stay for a few days, but seems like everything is going fine."

Marco released an exasperated sigh that earned a chuckle from the aged wizard.

"I take a break, ten minutes to relieve myself; I come back, and absolutely everything in the lower floor of the house is smashed; windows, plates, pictures, everything is trashed. I find the family scared witless and learned that Harry had stormed out into the night."

Marco looked a Dumbledore with mirth " _Massive bout of accidental magic_ I think, sure that it was only his reaction to the presence of that extra large aunt of his. _Reasonable_ I think, and took off running for the kid. Next thing I see? Him standing in the middle of the road looking around like a trapped bunny, then the kid takes off running like a thief, before I can do anything, and next, this MASSIVE GRIM leaps out of the bushes and starts running after Harry"

Dumbledore, who so far had listened intently to Marco's retelling of the night, allowed his white eyebrow to travel up to his hairline.

"A Grim?" Asked the aged headmaster, looking preoccupied.

Marco nodded "And i can tell you, the boy wasn't anywhere near a graveyard" Marco commented before continuing.

"I run, trying to catch up to harry; i do so for the next ten bloody blocks, and when I get to him, there is no Grim, and I find the kid passed out in the next park... I had no idea what to do, so I took him to the Cauldron; he should be safe there until the term begins"

Dumbledore nods to himself, stroking his beard in thought, his face still holding a worried expression; Finally after some time, he looked at Marco inquiringly.

"Did you talked to Harry about... current events?"

"Mentioned some things, left out others, but in general I think he understands that something is coming; it is likely going to take some time before he is ready for anything, not to mention those friends of his. Too much information could overwhelm them" Marco retold thoughtfully.

"And what about you? Aren't you overwhelmed?" The old wizard spoke in his wisest tone

Marco shot an annoyed glare at the headmaster, who chuckled a little at the look that he was receiving.

"At any rate" Marco continued "We don't have a lot to go on yet; I'm sure there'll be enough time to read them up to the point where they don't kill themselves in the first ten minutes"

Dumbldore's expression turned sour "This... are troubled times indeed, where children need to be involved in such things..."

"The world has always been kind of messed up if you ask me, but yes, I agree with you" Marco replied gently.

The headmaster nodded sadly, and said nothing for a while, before his face lit up again.

"Has there been any progress?" The headmaster asked eagerly, almost childlike.

Marco smiled and nodded softly.

ooo

Harry Potter laid in his new, albeit temporary, bed.

Thoughts and memories swirled around his head, denying him any sleep. There was a lot to think about... at least there was to him.

Whatever he had gotten himself into this time, far surpassed anything that had happened in the previous years at Hogwarts.

To start with, turns out that there had been a man looking after him through the summer without Harry knowing about it. As if the notion alone wasn't creepy, turns out that he was there, because a mass murderer was out and about.

Furthermore, as Marco had so eloquently put it, it was just the tip of the iceberg... of whatever was going on.

Did he forgot to mention the magical creature, often an omen of death, that had chased him down the streets of what usually is one of the most boring villages in the whole British isles?

And whomever Harry could only theorize to be Death... itself, saying something to him of what he had no idea about?

He let those thought rest, lest he be driven barmy by those.

But there was another subject that was bothering Harry, one that, at least he was more familiar with.

He recalled the events that led to him to leave the Dursley's house. He knew that he had made a scene, but he wasn't sure how.

At the beginning he had only planned to levitate a couple of vases and plates in front of Marge, scare her or something and then make a run for it. But that wasn't what had happened. No, somehow he had made a complete mess out of the house, and did things with his abilities that he didn't know he could do.

The surge of power that enabled him to do all that, came out of nowhere. Had it been him? or was it something else?

And then he had acted completely out of character.

That didn't really surprised him. He recognized how he had acted in fact.

It was him, or how he imagined himself in the countless adventures that he daydreamed about when no one was looking.

It was the Harry that fought battles of impossible odds, during his long lockdowns in his room at the Dursley's.

It was the Harry that tamed dragons and was master of a thousand different combat styles, the suave Harry that knew how to get away with everything... The Harry that he so desperately wanted to be.

ooo

The next days at the leaky Cauldron when by like a blur to Harry. He had secluded himself in the room that he had rented at the inn, heeding Marcos warnings.

Perhaps it was paranoia or perhaps he was paying attention to things he didn't before, but from the window of his room, the one that overlooked clearly most of Diagon alley, Harry was beginning to see some things that didn't quite fit the scene of what he knew to be Diagon alley.

The bustling street was filled with a river of colorful robes and attires. Families walked together, window-shopping and crossing out from their list the items that they had already acquired.

Children were laughing, running about and having fun. He spotted several couples walking hand in hand and sharing one or two chaste kisses.

Vendors were out of their stores, advertizing and inviting customers into their shops. The street was flooded with the wonderful aroma of freshly baked commodities. Sparks erupted here and there, magical toys flew about, and owls delivered mail with frightening efficiency.

If he hadn't been paying attention, everything would be normal.

But he had, and it wasn't.

Stationed in corners and shop entrances, the roofs and sometimes in the middle of the road, several men and women, all dressed in a black attire that stood out like a sore thumb, watched the activity in the alley with undeterred concentration.

On one of the few times that harry had gone out, he had asked a passing wizards about those strange men and women.

"Oh, those are Aurors"

He had replied with an air, as if he just remembered that there was a mass murderer on the loose.

To harry, who had been observing them for a couple of days now, they looked uncomfortable, as if they knew that they were disturbing the scenery somehow.

 **This chapter was supposed to be longer, but every attempt I made just resulted in more outlandish scenarios that ruined my storytelling, I'm sorry, I'll try to crank the next one out as soon as possible.**


	5. Chapter 5

**Sorry about the mistakes im sure i made, as soon as i finish writing this words im bolting up from my seat and running to my job**

Chapter 5

Harry Potter was busy studying Diagon alley from his window in the Leaky Cauldron. It was a rainy day, and tickles of water rolled down the outside of the window; the pitter patter of raindrops, a soothing melody, in contrast with the scrambled thoughts in his mind.

He had been at the Leaky Cauldron several days, and now that he had gotten his bearings, the chance to sit down and think was a welcome change.

Marco's warnings played over and over in his mind. His words hadn't been alarmed, panicked or even guarded; in fact, the way he had spoken, he sounded almost prophetic, as if he was completely aware and in control of the situation.

Harry was having trouble believing it all.

There was no way that he was involved in any sort of scheme. Marco had explained everything as if Harry would know what to do with the information. More worryingly, he had implied that Harry would need to do something about it.

But no, it couldn't be. Even if he was "The Boy Who Lived", he was still a 13 year old Hogwarts student. Other than Voldemort and Sirius Black, who would want something to do with him?

For all he knew, everything that Marco had told him could be a bunch of horseshite. Somebody simply interested in getting him into trouble, or lead him to Sirius black...

Harry sighed, exasperated with himself.

He had had that argument with himself several times already. First he would doubt Marco and slowly start accusing him of things of which he simply had no proof. Back and forth, back and forth; for days his mind had replayed the events of the previous days, bringing up every moment in scary detail. He looked for any sign of deceit from Marco, and anything which told him that he hadn't run into Death in a cemetery.

With another sigh, Harry watched a family disappear into a side-alley, a child trailing behind as he clung to the conversation he was having with a friend he had ran into.

Harry laid his head on his forearms sighing; he knew full well that he didn't have the full picture, his interactions with Marco being the only background he got from the man.

The truth was, if there were any scheme on Marco's part, he had had plenty of opportunity to carry out whatever he wanted while Harry had been unconscious after the grim incident.

Kidnapping or murder were ruled out as scenarios. What was left were complicated schemes and agendas that required Harry to be alive for some reason, and Harry had no possible way of knowing Marco's true intentions.

What was true was that not heeding Marco's words was starting to look like a bad idea. In his days of silent observation of the alley, it had become evident that something was not right.

People were jumpy. Most of the younger generations seemed to be oblivious to the tense and guarded aura, and continued to run and shout and play.

However, teenagers and adults were a different story...

Harry had witnessed the worried looks on parents faces as their children asked about the black robed men and women that dotted the streets. Older brothers and sisters, in contrast with the classical ' _i do not know those brats'_ attitude, they seemed to actually be trying to look after their younger brothers.

It was more noticeable in the families that obviously possessed more wealth than others. Some of them even had their personal escorts.

And every once in a while, people would huddle together in dark corners and whisper between themselves, as if they knew that _something else_ was going on.

Maybe his thoughts were being influenced by Marco, and maybe he was looking too much into it; but Harry was past the point of believing that everything was normal.

ooo

The long week he spent almost in complete seclusion in the leaky cauldron had allowed Harry to complete most of his pending assignments. Being in the magical side of London had its perks, as there were plenty of people that possessed the knowledge required, and were willing to help. Especially, Harry found out, if you were The Boy Who Lived.

Harry hadn't ventured much outside of the leaky cauldron. He got a sensation akin to exposure and paranoia whenever he dwelled on the idea of exiting the establishment. He had been woefully uncomfortable in his own skin the few times that he had actually ventured outside. For days harry had avoided all exploration outside the leaky cauldron. Just coming near the door caused cold sweat to drip down his forehead. Yet, this time, it was unavoidable.

He had a lengthy list of supplies that he and yet to get. He would rather go shopping before the beginning of the school year drew too close, otherwise he might be swept in the chaos of it all.

Wand in his pocket, he carefully exited the establishment, fighting with his fight or fight reflex all the way.

He breathed in deeply, steeling his resolve and pushed down the bile from his mouth.

He began walking, one step at a time. The fear that was gripping his heart was completely alien to him, and it wouldn't be accurate to call it fear.

It was as if there was something compelling him to run back inside.

People who passed by him gave him strange looks, as each step forwards took an uncanny amount of effort. He reached the first "Checkpoint" set by the Aurors, all the way struggling to appear somewhat normal. Sweat covered his forehead, as if he had just completed a successful work out. It is a weird sensation when your body doesn't want to obey your commands.

One of the black coated men spotted him in the street looking at him in mild surprise. An eyebrow of his rose in interest but soon turned to look at somebody else who had called out to him.

Harry, passed the "Chekpoint"

And the sensation stopped.

As if someone had released the leash that had held Harry, he stumbled forwards. Puzzled, he looked back at where he had come from. Instead of seeing the leaky cauldron, he found himself starring at the back of the Auror.

The man seemed to notice, because he turned around and with a quick wink, he gave Harry an one handed "thumbs up".

" _was that some sort of spell?"_ Harry thought as he examined the area he had just left. There was no indication of any kind of magic involved, nothing that he could recognize at least. But the Auror... he had behaved as if the sensation and the struggle that harry had felt were completely expected.

Thinking back on it for a moment, the " _feeling"_ that Harry had felt was extremely foreign. The fear that, whatever that had been, was completely artificial and empty.

Harry didn't knew what that had been. Everything pointed to the fact that that had not been some trick played by his mind. The reaction of the Auror seemed only to confirm that he hadn't gone crazy.

Unsure of what to do, Harry continued to walk down Diagon alley, this time unimpeded.

The first times that he had done so in his previous years, he had been too preoccupied with magic to actually pay attention to what was going on around him.

This time however, and perhaps due to the seeds of paranoia that the events of the previous days had planted in his mind, he was looking around, without really thinking, almost frantically.

It was like an itch, an urge. An instinct that had been born a few nights ago. Something in the back of his mind told him to double-check everything; There might be a grim hidden somewhere...

A small part of his mind was registering all the little details, the part of him that was not looking out for a threat that is. It was not exactly a prime instinct what Harry was experiencing per se.

He didn't want to get jumped on again by any beast or man. He made it his purpose to make sure to know what was going on around him. His days of silent observation were an exercise in attention and they were paying off. He didn't need to think about paying attention anymore.

The influx of information was astounding. Diagon alley had always been a place that remained packed almost year round, and there were so many different things going on around him, that, if he were not committed to his own safety, the ensuing headache wouldn't be worth it.

There was a mother at the edge of his vision, furiously counting golden coins with a worried look on her face, her husband holding her shoulders in support. A sad visage on his face.

There was a teenager in a group of friends. He was talking about his new coat, the quality and magical properties of it and how thankful he was to his older brother. Meanwhile, one of the other teenagers in the group, discreetly wiped away dirt from his own, worn out, coat.

There was a pigeon sitting on the ledge of a roof, which seemed to be strangely attentive at the streets below.

There was a toy car running on its own in between the peoples legs. There was a mouse driving it.

A bunch of children in a line at the nearest ice cream shop.

An excited family coming out from Olivander's, a small girl brandishing her new wand excitedly as sparks of many colors flew around her with each wave.

The newest broom being showcased in the store, a fire bolt, had cracks running through it; the patch job that held it together obvious to anyone who was paying attention.

Music coming from one of the stores was a smuggle song. A house elf popped at the side of one of the families in the street. In a side-alley there was a woman holding her baby, breastfeeding it; she looks exhausted. Another woman, much younger, blushing as she slides her hand into the trousers of her companion. A pigeon, sitting on a the ledge of the roof, strangely attentive to...

Harry stopped dead in his tracks. His mind quieted instantly, reducing the earlier influx of information, until it was focused solely on the animal.

Maybe he was being paranoid, maybe his mind was still scrambled due to the effects of whatever it was that was preventing him from leaving The Leaky Cauldron. But that pigeon looked exactly like the one from earlier, and was doing exactly the same thing the other one did. Looking down the street, directly at him.

For a pigeon, Harry noticed, it was oddly put. It was sitting down on the roof, Almost _stiffly,_ looking directly at him.

Harry racked his brain. He had seen an animal behave like that before.

The memory of teacher McGonagall morphing from a cat and into herself in his first year popped into his mind.

Harry, slowly, turned to face at the pigeon, directly. The puzzled face he had worn when he had spotted the animal had been changed for a weary, slightly dangerous expression.

The reaction was immediate.

The pigeon flew off in the direction directly opposite to Harry.

OOO

Harry stood paralyzed in the middle of the street, looking towards the direction that the animal had taken off to.

"No, no, no" Harry muttered to himself, denying with his head "You are just paranoid Harry, that was a pigeon like any other" he said over and over in a hushed tone, as to avoid being heard by the flowing crowd around him.

A betraying thought intruded in his mind just as he recalled, one by one, the events before he spotted both of the suspicious pigeons.

 _"That was a coincidence... wasn't it?"_ he thought with increasing apprehension, green eyes wide and glued to the ledge where the animal had been.

Whispers began reaching Harry's ears. Around him, people were looking at him, more so because of him being him, than because of anything else, but he did manage to catch a few people looking towards where he was looking, with what he could imagine were puzzled expressions.

Harry blinked as his senses refocused on everything that was going around him, and as if he had just come out of a daze, he stumbled a little bit, before looking around desperately and heading off towards one of the side alleys. There he leaned heavily against the wall, and for a minute, did nothing but breathe deeply.

 _"What is happening to me?"_ he asked himself without being able to answer. He didn't feel any different physically, but his mind was on a state of alertness that he could only ever recall being in when he was running away from the Basilisk.

 _"Am I scared?"_ he pondered, again without answer for himself. Even then he knew he was just waiting for something out of the ordinary to happen.

He spent some more time leaning against the wall just trying to get rid of whatever took hold of him earlier. He still wasn't even sure what had been that which had tried to prevent him from leaving the Leaky Cauldron earlier, and having an altered state of mind, or whatever the other thing had been, was not going to help.

Slowly, and as with the pigeons earlier, Harry attributed everything to some weird paranoia.

Feeling better, Harry readied himself and was about to exit the side-alley; But before he could, the light sound of wings fluttering behind him, made him stop.

Turning around, just out of curiosity, and sitting on a bunch of crates high enough to put it face to face with him, Harry spotted a Black pigeon with decidedly intelligent eyes.

Both of them stared at each other for a second, before the pigeon took off in the direction opposite to Harry.

Harry stood there for only a second before he took off after the animal.

ooo

Running from alley to alley, street to street, all while avoiding obstacles that ranged from crates to other wizards, all the while trying to catch a pigeon was an oddly invigorating experience to harry.

The reflexes he had acquired by playing Quidditch were paying off as they made the job only a little less harder.

The bird didn't seem to be aware of the chase going on, as it flew in straight lines and not all too fast. Even then, its ability to navigate the environment in a _y_ axis made it so that Harry was having real trouble in catching up.

He was unfamiliar with the alleyways he was running in and he was bumping into stacked crates and people all the time. Managing to dodge the larger obstacles was becoming increasingly tiring as the chase drew out; and yet Harry was determined to get to the bottom of whatever was going on.

Right turn, left turn, then straight for two blocks and then left again. The seemingly erratic pattern in which the bird was flying was giving Harry a sweat. It was only by luck that the bird didn't flew up hicher into the sky and out of reach.

It however was starting to fly over the rooftops in directions that didn't follow the streets.

With only a second to be amazed at his acrobatic prowess, Harry was able to follow the pigeon to the rooftops of Diagon alley, thanks a bunch of stacked wooden boxes, which collapsed as soon as he jumped off them.

With his increasingly labored breath, Harry started to fall behind. To make his job harder, the tiles on top of the roof were still wet from the rain, making it almost impossible to stay on top of them. Jumping from rooftop to rooftop was something that Harry wasn't expecting to do... ever, although in his mind he was managing splendidly.

Thankfully, the streets under him were narrow and not too much space existed between roofs.

The challenge came when Harry spotted a church in his path. The rooftop of the church was higher than the buildings surrounding it and it left Harry with the only option of jumping on it and hope that he managed to hold on to something.

Maybe it was the adrenaline, or maybe it was his natural fearlessness, but Harry didn't hesitate when the moment came.

He took the leap and stretched out his hands with confidence.

Inevitably, Harry slipped, and fell and onto the street. Landing hard with an "omph" Harry barely had time to see the pigeon land on the bell tower of the church.

Harry's world spun. He hadn't hit himself in the head, and he wasn't in any sort of excruciating pain either, just a sort of mental desorientation.

"You damn brat!" Harry heard a voice sound over him "What in the bloody hell were you doing on the roof?"

Harry felt himself being pulled upright by someone. Once up, and after the world stopped spinning, Harry re adjusted his glasses, which somehow remained in his face after the fall.

As soon as he did so, Harry noticed two things.

The first one was that his right wrist hurt like hell. And the second one was the old man that had helped him up.

"Mister... Olivander?" Harry recalled the face of the man who had sold him his wand almost three years ago.

"Mister Potter" Olivander chastised "what were you thinking? running around like that? that is the fastest way to get yourself injured!"

Olivander then looked around Harry scanning for injury. His eyes widened when he spotted Harry's wand on the ground.

"And what's that?" He picked up the wand "Still carrying around your wand in your pocket i see? You are no longer a first grader mister potter, act like such!"

Olivander said those words with such indignation in his tone that Harry visibly flinched. Not having had time to utter a word since Olivander started speaking, Harry was about to apologize. Again he was interrupted by Olivander, who had shushed him harshly and was now crouched over and rummaging through, presumably, his own bag.

A few seconds went by like that, with Harry awkwardly waiting for Olivander to finish with whatever he was doing.

Finally, the aged wizard procured something from the bag. With a flourish and an excited "aha!" similar to the ones he did when selecting wands, he presented Harry with what he could only assume to be a wand holster of some sort.

Not waiting for him, Olivander took Harry's right arm in his hands and started fitting the wand holster around Harry's wrist.

Suppressing a yelp of pain, Harry watched the skilled hands of the wand- maker fit the holster expertly around his wrist.

With a satisfied expression, Olivander shoved in Harry's wand in the holster and let go him.

"Normally i would charge 20 galleons for a holster like that, but seeing that you just fell from a rooftop and that it would be a terrible shame if your wand were to snap thanks to your carelessness, I will only charge you 10 for the next time that you visit my shop, 5 for the material and 5 for me not telling your guardians about your rooftop adventures."

The last part Olivander said with an intimidating tone that Harry had not expected from the aged wizard.

Harry nodded dumbly at Olivander, still wincing from the pain on his now, tightly bound, wrist. Without another word, the wand maker dusted himself off, picked up his things and left.

Harry stood in the middle of the street like a lost kid.

He wasnt sure what happened or where he was, only that he should try and figure a way back to the Leaky Cauldron before anything else happened.

He was about to leave when he heard the muffled sound wings fluttering.

Once again he spun around, his idea about going back completely forgotten.

He spotted movement in the corner of his eye. Brief flashes of movement came from within the church, and Harry could swear that there was a bird in it.

Harry looked around, debating what to do.

The sun was beginning to set, and there were few people in the street. It was a decidedly less "magical" part of London than regular Diagon alley, but there were still some odd shops and buildings and Owl's flying about.

Harry circled around the church quitely, looking for a way in.

The door was a no go. It didn't even budge when harry tried to open it; not even a sound had come from it. The windows were much the same, and for some reason harry could only see the movement through them, but not anything clearly, as if the inside of the building was holding a very thick fog.

Harry sighed, looking up at the bell tower. He knew he had to go and try to climb it again, despite already having fallen down from it.

Despite that, the building itself looked oddly "climbable" and even inviting. It had plenty of ledges and places to hold on from, almost as if it was designed to be climbed.

Harry got onto the roof successfully this time. there was still no way in however, so harry kept going until he reached the top of the bell tower.

Once on it, Harry took a second to breath. There was indeed a way into the church there, under the heavy brass bell.

Tying down the rope that rang the bell so that it wouldn't accidentally rang the bell, Harry slid down the rope until he was on the top floor of the building.

Muffled shouts and conversation could be heard coming from bellow. Harry spotted three men near the altar.

The three of them looked exactly the same, except for the clothes.

Two of them were dressed in white tuxedoes that looked pristine even from the distance that Harry was seeing them from.

The other one however wore a black toxedo that looked as if someone had slept in it. The man in it was not doing well as his face was covered in bruises, and blod from his broken nose trickled down his face as he laid on the ground quivering.

The other two men with the white tuxedos were looming over him, small splatters of blood covering their clothes.

Harry heard the man on the ground speak through coked gasps.

"B-b-b brothers" he whined in tears "what did i do?" He asked

"Moron" one of them said before kiking his brother in the gut. "The boy spotted you remember?" _kick_ "You put us in danger you retard" _kick_ "Always screwing up" _**kick**_ **"Always fucking up**!"

Before another blow could land a silky smooth voice sounded

"Anatoly" it said, and the man stopped his next kick mid way.

The other man in the tuxedo turned to his brother "he has leant his lesson"

With A grunt the man turned away from his downed brother, who was still laying on the ground, quivering. As soon as his brother turned around, the man on the ground morphed into a black pigeon and remained motionless.

"Luka" the man that had kicked his brother said to the man in the tuxedo "what happens now?"

Harry couldn't get a good look at Luka, although the hairstyle he wore reminded him of snape. There was something odd about him something sinister. The way he carried himself, how he walked and talked... it made Harry afraid.

"Nothing" Luka answered his brother "nothing to be done; Harry potter knows he is being watched now; we need to lay low or he could get involved"

"And what about the contractors?" Anatoly asked having somehow wiped off the blood from his suit.

"We'll tell them the truth, that our brother screwed up" as he said those words, Luka grabbed the black pigeon and stuffed it into a cage that Harry assumed he had conjured.

"Take our brother and leave" Luka commanded to Anatoly "I have something to take care of"

With a nod, Anatoly took the cage and strode .out of the church, dispelling the magic that held the door closed.

Luka remained there, still as in deep thought. After some time, he went to the back of the altar and opened the door to the cupboard.

Harry's eyes widened when the body of a priest, covered in blood, fell out of the cupboard. Without effort or hesitation, Luka took the body of the priest and set it on the altar. Circling the body, as in ceremony, Luka took a knife from his pocket and began cutting the priest.

Harry, in silent horror, watched as Luka cut away the robes of the priest, and then started cutting straight down the mans limbs.

He uttered some words that Harry couldn't understand and without warning, stabbed the man in the heart. As if he was alive, the wounds on the body began bleeding anew and dripped into the floor with a very disgusting pitter patter.

Harry watched Luka take the ceremonial challis from the altar, and with practiced ease filled it with the flowing blood.

Then he lifted the cup in harrys direction as if toasting and said "I don't like eavesdroppers" With one long sigh, he took a large sip from the cup.

Crimson stained lips smiled wickedly at Harry.

"I cant kill you, Harry Potter, or else i would be skinned alive" he chuckled after another sip.

Without warning, Luka brandished his wand and called out " _Incarcerous!_ "

Without warning, Harry found himself bound and gagged on the floor of the balcony that overlooked the main altar. No longer able to see Luka, he only heard.

"But if a fire kills you, then it's just fate" Not another word was said as harry heard the footsteps of he man fade as he walked out of the church.

Before completely disappearing, Harry herd tow things; the metallic challis being dropped to the ground, and another spell being cast. " _INCENDIO!"_

The roar of flames igniting the wood on the lower level was all that Harry heard before the church was lit in orange light. In his bindings, harry couldn't move, much less reach his wand. Wiggling around had only gotten him near the wall, but had done nothing to loosen the ropes that bound him.

Harry's eyes widened through his eyeglasses as he saw the wood from the balcony begin to smoke.

A tense minute passed by as Harry attempted to unbind himself, but he had gotten nowhere, and by then the sizzling of wood had begun to reach his ears.

Harry looked around frantically, looking for anything that might help him, if he did, all he had to do was to do was to use his Wand-Less magic to...

 _"Imbecil"_ he though to himself. Relaxing his body as to make room for his hands to move under the rope; despite not needing them to perform the actual magic, it helped him concentrate.

He felt the rope binding him in his mind, its texture and presence; like all the magical things that he interacted wand-less-ly with, there was a flash of cyan along the rope.

The rope started to become unwind, and in less than a minute, harry was upright and looking for an exit. Deciding that the way he came in was the fastest way away from the flames, he started climbing up the rope (a feat he was surprised to learn he could accomplish) and onto the bell tower.

Once there, with a premeditated wince, harry leapt on top of the roof , landed heavily on his feet, and once again for the day, let himself fall from the roof and onto the street below.

Hurting in several places, Harry began finding his way back to the Leaky Cauldron. Along the way he made sure to pay attention to every detail and every oddity. from the owl with a hat, to sounds of children running to their houses after curfew.


	6. Chapter 6

**Happy Holidays everyone! I hope that ya'll are with your loved ones, or if you can't, I wish that at least you are happy.**

 **Sorry for the delay! I've been trying to get a beta for this story but it is harder to achieve than i thought!**

 **Scrapy8, thanks for your continued support!**

 **If anybody has constructive criticism about anything, feel free to leave a review or PM me :)**

 **Chapter 6**

 **Ministry of Magic's Department of Mysteries**

Brittan's Department of Mysteries is a curious thing.

While it is not the only institution in the world which devotes itself to the more obscure aspects of the arcane arts, it is one of the oldest ones. The location where the newest iteration of the department is located, was, in ages past, a place where the wise and the eager went in the search of knowledge.

It used to be a place where magic was discussed and practiced freely, away from the prying eyes of those who hated the arcane, or those who were dangerously eager to gain power over magic.

Through the ages, grate feats of magic have left their imprint in that place; echoing through time and making themselves present in our days.

Vestiges of such echoes were given names. The Veil of Death, The Gateway of Love, The Time Fracture and so on. The current department of mysteries is built specifically over those powerful singularities, where it was deemed necessary to study such echoes.

The department is the workplace of the "Unspeakables". Members of the ministry of magic who devote themselves to studying said phenomena's as well as all kind of dangerous or out of the ordinary artifacts.

The place itself has several levels; the deeper you go, the higher security clearance you need. But it being an old place, one that has had pieces of it added, removed, renovated, and transformed; it has been left with one or two blind spots in the security.

Maybe it is hubris on part of the government, so confident in its own abilities to keep its magical secrets safe. Maybe it was desperation to cover up their own mess. Maybe it was on purpose.

Whatever the case, it was an open invitation for any thief that might need something stored deep within the Department. For someone desperate enough to venture into the depths of magical Brittan and face off against the elaborate protections placed by those with secrets to hide.

And so, on a cold, Londonian, morning, such heist was taking place.

ooo

Marco cursed silently as sharp pain erupted from his leg. There wasn't much space to move about, and the cursed contraption had sneaked up on him.

Ignoring the pain for a moment, he used his leg to bash the machine repeatedly against the wall of the air conduct.

 _"Damned Victorians and their inventions"_ he thought with a wince.

The contraption that had latched onto him, was a metallic looking spider, with the style that characterized Victorian aesthetics and design. Fitting, since the entrance to the Department of Mysteries that Marco had chosen, laid in the section of the ministry that had been constructed in late 1800's.

While much of what made it "Victorian" had disappeared with the frequent remodeling of the place on the ministry's behalf, some essential components had been left untouched.

Such as the ventilation system which Marco was now attempting to traverse.

He had been at it for a large part of the early morning. It was a cramped and dark space, with nigh invisible pitfalls and an endless maze of tunnels. It was crawling with century old machines that had been left there deemed as useless, just as the tiny guardian who had viciously attacked his leg.

Avoiding the large metallic apparatuses from an age past should have been the hardest part of his journey. Any wards and protections that might have been placed before were useless now as Victorian Wizards had a tendency to try and mix electricity and magic; a volatile combination in most cases. And the few successes that were had, were doomed to last little.

Such as the wards that had been placed in the ventilation system, which by now, barely gave Marco a small tingle whenever he stumbled upon one.

"Not much further" Marco whispered to himself once his metallic opponent had been defeated thanks to the might of his own leg.

With effort, he crawled up through a vertical air duct that led to a single vent.

The room it opened to was mostly dark, barely and only lit by the cyan glow from ancient looking runes, carved, seemingly at random, around the room.

While the light itself was barely strong enough to cast a shadow, Marco was adept at moving around and seeing through the darkness.

A satisfied smirk adorned his face when he identified the place he had emerged into.

It was an old, mostly unused section of the department. It was not located in an essential area, not even remotely as it was on the lowest level one could access. Even amongst the ranks of the Unspeakables, only those who had earned the trust of the ministry where allowed in.

Only rumors existed of what was stored in the lowest level of the department. All rumors except for one thing. One thing that for reasons still unknown to Marco, "Had to be there". One, very specific scroll.

Marco didn't suppose that such thing would have been thrown in with the rest of the written knowledge that the department may hold. It would be in a very secure place.

The room he was in certainly wasn't the one. It was old and unused, a vestige of an age past.

Marco pulled out an old piece of parchment from a pouch that hung to his side. It was a map, a very old map. It had details for the layout of the renovation to the department that occurred over a century past.

Most of it had been erased by the passing of time, but enough was left to navigate through most parts of the place, such as the ventilation system.

"Okay" Marco murmured to himself, examining the map carefully.

"This room is one of the few possible entrances" Marco recited while pointing at the room he was in on the map.

"One is collapsed" he said, crossing out one of the rooms marked on the map with a red crayon.

Pocketing the map and crayon back in his pouch Marco strode towards the door that sealed off the room from the rest of the ministry.

"This one however" he said as he pried open the door with confidence.

The door opened up to massive, black chasm.

Not having had time to react, Marco barely avoided falling into the abyss, hanging, if only just, by his fingertips from the pommel of the door.

Under his weight, the hinges of the door started to break.

Not looking down, Marco swung with ease into the cliff's wall under the doorway, and with a loud grunt that echoed in the darkness, climbed back into the room. Taking a second to process his near death experience as the rest of the door fell into the abyss, cautiously, he poked his head out of the room.

The way down seemed endless. The dim light coming from the room was hopeless at the prospect of illuminating the abyss. Looking up, Marco managed to distinguish some structures hanging all through the chasm.

Some of those were parts of the ventilation ducts which he, presumably, had traversed already. And at the very top, Marco managed to distinguish what was probably the underside of the ministry of magic.

"Definitely not this one" he murmured, still poking his head out of the room.

Somewhat nonchalantly for someone who had almost fallen to his death not a minute ago, Marco crossed out the room he was in on the map.

"Let's hope the other rooms are in less... hazardous locations" He chuckled to himself as he re-entered the air vent he had come out from.

ooo

Harry Potter awoke with a startle. Light was falling directly on his face, forcing him to part with his beloved sleep.

Groggily, Harry sat on his bed.

He had gotten back to the Leaky Cauldron at an impossibly late hour. Having never been left to his own devices in London, he had gotten lost the second he had lost sight of the burning church. Only after stumbling upon the river Thames, was he able to find the way back to magical London.

He had arrived at the leaky cauldron more than hungry, and deadly tired.

Eating a hasty dinner, he received strange looks from the other patrons through his stay. Now, looking at himself in the mirror the morning after, he understood why.

He was a mess. His face was almost completely covered in black soot, and most of his clothes were torn in various places. He had an ample collection of new bruises and scrapes that were making their presence known.

Wincing involuntarily, Harry grasped his right hand, feeling the wand holster tightly wrapped around his hurt wrist.

"So it wasn't a dream" Harry whispered to nobody.

For a second, a bout of anxiety and trepidation got a hold of him.

What had he gotten himself into?

Evidently Marco had given him a truthful warning; something else was going on besides mass murderer Sirius Black being out and about. And yet again he was somehow part of it.

Despite that, he had gone and exposed himself directly to the enemy, and had only escaped with his life by the hair of his teeth.

Harry examined his body in the mirror, having stripped to his boxers.

There was some bruising where the ropes had bound him. A chilling reminder with his close call with death. There were more bruises all along his legs and arms, a likely result from his fall from the rooftops.

His knees and elbows were scraped and bloody, and his fingers were aching with especially bothersome pain.

Harry watched himself breath in the mirror for some time, contemplating the places where his body had been injured.

He knew he was mostly fine. His body, while not strong or large, had, over the years of being a plaything for his cousin, toughened up. That along with his previous escapades at Hogwarts, meant that Harry had a pretty high pain tolerance.

Deciding it was time to get going, he headed to the shower.

Magical showers were always top notch compared to muggle ones in Harry's opinion. The water was always as hot or cold as you wanted it; most were spacious and were always stocked with anything a man or woman could need to enjoy time alone.

The showers in the Leaky Cauldron's rooms were no different.

Despite being rustic by comparison to the ones in Hogwarts or privet drive, Harry still enjoyed the homely sensation he got from the place.

Relishing in the warm water, Harry watched the dirt being washed away from his body in silent contemplation.

 _"I need to be more careful"_ Harry thought with gloom " _Hermione would kill me if she found out that I almost died"_

A chuckle escaped him "Yea I'll be more careful... when it happens again"

A feeling of elation overtook him as he washed himself.

"That was awesome" he confessed to himself, playing back the events of the previous day in his head. He had been like a spy uncovering something dangerous and running over the rooftops to achieve his objective.

It was a childish thought. It was reckless and it was irresponsible.

And he didn't care one bit.

Harry paused for a second at that revelation. He truly didn't care.

Running over the rooftops and escaping a burning church... it had felt like the first time playing Quidditch... or the second and third time. Both exciting and dangerous.

Harry continued to replay the events of the last day until he was done with the shower.

Before getting out however, Harry paused and his visage turned serious. Without a word, he extended his arm towards the towel that hung from a hook on the other side of the bathroom. Without any resistance, the piece of fabric un-hung itself from the hook and steadily floated towards Harry until it was in his hands.

Harry was not dumb. He knew the only reason he was alive was because one of his best friends just so happened to gift him a book about wand-less magic.

"So... preparation is the key" he whispered. It clicked in his mind as if it had been evident all the time.

Harry exited the bathroom with one thought in mind.

 _"Then prepared I shall be"_

ooo

Marco grasped firmly his left shoulder. A pained grunt escaped his lips as he tried to nurse his open wound.

He had run into one of the only working defenses in the place. The blasted thing had gotten him good with a crossbow bolt it had shot from its arm-turned ballista.

His first instinct had been to pull the bolt out of his flesh, but seeing the amount of blood that started pouring out after he'd done so, he quickly realized it had been a bad idea.

"We need this scroll Marco, it's crucial to our efforts" he mimicked in a whiny voice. From the pouch he wore, he procured a small vial which contained a dark purple substance.

"Indeed o wise leader, i shall do my best to retrieve said scroll" Again Marco parroted in his normal voice mockingly. Having opened the vial, Marco took a long breath and held it in his lungs.

Wincing preemptively, he poured the liquid on his wound.

A muffled scream escaped from his nose while all the muscles on his body tensed at the presence of the searing pain that was now extruding from his shoulder. It was taking all his willpower to stop him from yelling curses out load and rolling on the ground with pain.

Instead Marco remained sitting on the stone floor, letting the potion do its work. Occasionally a wisp of white smoke would come out from his shoulder followed by another pinch of pain. After what seemed like an eternity, the potion finished working, and the blood stopped dripping.

Carefully, Marco examined the wound in his shoulder. Thankfully the crossbow bolt had missed bones, otherwise he would be in another world of pain altogether. Now instead of a hole in his flesh, a candy purple "plug" existed where the bolt had gone in.

Damned ingenious wizards had come up with a potion that would fill in any hole in one's flesh that would eventually dissolve into the body once the healing process was completed. Even more useful was the fact that the "plug" it created was made to replicate the functions of the organic tissue it was replacing.

It couldn't be used to "plug" a heart since the function of that specific muscle relied on electric impulses, and that alone was a bad idea; and it wasn't of much use mending other muscles either, but it was a damn miracle for any other type of wound.

Having reflected on the uses of the purple concoction and its weaknesses, Marco rose from the ground and looked around the room he was in. A content smile graced his lips. He was finally inside the Department of Mysteries.

Before moving forwards, Marco turned around and scowled at the door he had just crossed. Getting there had been a mess.

 _He muttered to himself as he crossed out another one of the possible entrances in the map. Most of them had been simple dead ends which had collapsed, but some others had proven to be deadly in nature. Some were unstable and he decided that, to travel on the crumbly tunnels was just not worth it. Some others had become the house of several undesired, and dangerous, pests._

 _Not to mention that one of the rooms, one that looked most promising both in the map and structural integrity, had been guarded by what Marco was sure was a hibernating dragon._

 _"I'm brave, not stupid" he convinced himself as he retreated once more into the vents._

 _In the end Marco had found what seemed to be the safest rout in what seemed to have been a workshop of sorts a century ago._

 _Tools and devices still littered the tables, along with plates which still held the remains of decayed food on them. He even spotted one or two wands laying there abandoned._

 _It was an eerie scenario. The mostly dark room held no corpses in it and no indications of any confrontation._

 _Marco took one of the wands in his hands with almost reverence. A he examined it, he couldn't help but wonder what would have made anyone leave in such a hurry._

 _For a wizard to leave his wand unattended was almost outrageous. But... what made them not come back for them?_

 _What had they found out, or built that prompted them to seal away a section of the place not even bothering to clean it up first?_

 _A tingle of fear and anxiety crept up Marco's back. There were many rumors about what went on in the Department of Mysteries, and through time, there had been several mysterious disappearances inside the department itself._

 _Marco took all the three wands that were left in the workshop, and pocketed them in his pouch._

 _They were of no use to anybody there, left to collect dust._

 _Marco marched forwards, following the light glow of the runes etched on the walls._

 _After some minutes of walking in the darkened corridor, Marco came up to a long and tall hall. It was obvious to Marco that it had been an entire section of the department a century ago. the dim light from the runes revealed rows of desks and chairs still littered with office appliances._

 _He could distinguish with effort the charred paper and broken pens littering the floor, as if thrown to the ground provoked by the stormy winds caused by a fire. Even in the darkness Marco could discern the blackened marble tiles, as well as the burnt down desks and other wooden artifacts._

 _Marco trudged in the darkness unsure of what to think. With his fingers he traced the tops of the surviving tables as he passed._

 _A loud crack under his feet stopped him dead in his tracks. Soon after a displeasing smell reached Marco who wrinkled his nose in disgust. He dug through his pouch in search of a small flip lighter he had gotten years ago._

 _Turning it on Marco was not quite prepared for the image that greeted him._

 _The flickering light revealed a ghastly scene. Dozens of skeletal corpses littered the floor of the hall; all of them still donning what Marco could only guess was the uniform of the Department a century ago._

 _Underneath many of the corpses, protected from the outside elements, large bloodstains remained intact._

 _Marco took a shaky step backward, rattling loudly the skeleton he had stepped on by accident. He looked at the unfortunate man or woman whose remains he had disturbed with uncertainty, willing himself to remain composed._

 _The echo of the rattling skeleton spread across the hall, and in Marco's head, took an unnatural amount of time to die down._

 _The noise started fading in the distance, and Marco waited eagerly for it to stop as if the sound itself held him rooted to the spot._

 _Just when Marco could barely perceive the echo at the edge of his hearing, another, more unsettling noise rang across the darkened hall._

 _It was the sound of metal grating against metal._

 _Marco's breathing hitched as he listened to the echo. He was certain he wasn't the cause of that noise. All of a sudden, in the distance, a small, flickering light came alive, much like the one of his own lighter._

 _Nothing happened after that, but Marco remained rooted to the ground in silent observation. It was only then that he noticed something._

 _Occasionally, a metallic, twisted looking object laid on the floor, usually surrounded by skeletons. Marco raised his lighter up in hopes of seeing more clearly; Slowly, the shadows that were cast by the corpses began taking shape, and outlined in them, the unmistakable silhouette of arrows impaling the bodies._

 _Marco turned to look at the corpse he had stumbled upon earlier, and sure enough, there was an arrow protruding from its chest._

 _Now definitely on edge, Marco tentatively took the wand of the fallen wizard, which still laid there, right where it's owner left it when he perished._

 _Marco wasn't sure he could do much with a wand, especially one which wasn't his, but the feeling of holding something in his hands was comforting, as he hadn't anticipated that he might need something to defend himself._

 _With steeled resolve, Marco began to inch forwards towards the light in the distance, being careful not to disturb any corpse along the way. As he walked, a sensation took hold of him._

 _He was being watched._

 _But for the life of him he couldn't pinpoint from where. He couldn't hear the breathing of the man or beast who was stalking him. But it was clear as day, since every natural instinct in his body was telling him so._

 _With his Goosebumps only accentuating as he approached the light, Marco became very tense, as the source of the light revealed itself in front of him._

 _He drew a large breath as he contemplated the metallic colossus that laid before him with slight awe._

 _A flame like the one of a candle burned away steadily inside the chest of the metal man, which was kneeling on one knee, staring directly at him._

 _Oddly, there was no rust in the metal of the colossus, unlike the ones which laid on the floor surrounding him. Intricate patterns that resembled runes were etched onto the metal with fine craftsmanship; said runes still glowed faintly, although not as much as the ones on the walls._

 _Marcos eyes were drawn to the left arm of the metal man, where instead of having a hand, there was a crossbow, which incidentally was aimed directly at Marco._

 _There was a loud metallic "clang" which startled Marco. It had come from the crossbow._

 _Deciding not to test his luck, Marco began to circle the machine from outside the circumference of its dead brothers._

 _With a pained sound which came from metal rubbing against metal, the crossbow and head of the colossus followed Marco as he tried to walk past it._

 _Another "clang" came from the machine, making Marco jump a little._

 _Faster now, Marco began walking directly towards the most immediate exit, which was the main one._

 _Another "Clang" rang, and this time, Marco was able to see the mechanisms inside the metal man work, as they slowly brought a bolt towards its firing position in the crossbow._

 _Not liking his chances, Marco began sprinting madly towards the exit._

 _"Clang!"_

 _He was almost to the door._

 _"Clang!"_

 _It was a mere matter of opening the damned thing._

 _"Zwiing!"_

 _Marco Barely registered the crossbow bolt imbed itself on his shoulder as he ran past the door and into the maze of hallways._

A small shudder escaped him as he remembered. He looked over the bloodied crossbow bold laying on the floor, took it and pocketed it into his pouch with shrug.

"It was meant to kill me and it didn't" he muttered silently the odd tradition of his. Before getting a move on he looked again at the door he had just exited in wonder. "And they killed their creators... i should write a book about that" he said with a chuckle.

From there it wasn't much what he had to do before getting to the main chamber of the department. All he had had to do was to lock pick his way through a couple of closed doors.

He winced a little, the sting in his shoulder was still there, and it would be for a while, but for the time being, he was still at the beginning of all he had to do inside the Department.

ooo

Harry strode out of the Leaky Cauldron with a confident stride. The effects of whatever was trying to scare him were easily brushed off by his busy mind.

In his hands, he had a long list of school supplies he had to get, and Harry was planning on adding some things to that list.

His first stop was Gringott's where he grabbed several fistfuls of golden coins from his trust fund. He had gotten a curious look from the goblin that had accompanied him, when Harry had begun chucking the coins in every pocket he could find.

Storming out of the bank, not having lost the initiative, Harry set about dealing with everything he needed as fast as he could, since he planned on spending most of the day browsing for anything that might be useful for... well, anything.

Mostly what he had to get were the books listed in his supply list, as his previous years robes still fit quite nicely and all he had to replace was a cauldron he accidentally managed to melt in the last year's final potions class.

He figured it was also as good time as any to pay for the unwanted wand holster.

By noon he was finished with most of all, even the extra details like the polishing kits for broom and wand, as well as some little presents he planned to give to both Ron and Hermione.

The last place he had to visit was "Flourish and Blotts" the most well stocked library of Diagon Alley, as well as the one where most of the Hogwarts curriculum could be obtained.

As he entered, Harry spotted several familiar faces, and although he wasn't particularly friendly with any of them, he spent some time greeting and talking with his schoolmates.

Harry was thankful for the distraction. As he had feared the other day, the place was filled to the brim, with plenty of new year's being especially loud in their antics.

Soon all the people he recognized left, and he was left feeling like a castaway surrounded by a sea filled with sharks.

He never liked crowded spaces, and to make matters worse, he was already getting some looks from people who had recognized him. Surprise handshakes started coming from out of nowhere, and some of the most obnoxious individuals stubbornly tried to start a conversation with him.

People seemed to fight over him, vying for his attention. As the crowd of over excited "fans" grew, so did Harry's anxiousness.

For a second Harry felt as if he was drowning. His body tensed up, and his mind began to work on overdrive yet again.

The world around seemed to slow down, and much of the noise surrounding him became distant. He could hear his heart beat with haste, and he idly wondered why he could chase a pigeon on the rooftops of a busy city unfazed, while being surrounded by loud people made him so nervous.

Whatever the moment of mental respite he had gotten was, it allowed him to re-focus on his task. For a moment, he was incredibly aware of his breathing. As he began tranquilizing he remembered why he was there in the first place.

Harry's attention re focused on the firm handshake he was receiving from a tall and burly man, who was thanking him profusely with clear excitement.

Awkwardly and a bit surprised , Harry answered the man

"N-o need to thank me" he responded as he tore away from him and practically elbowed his way out the mob with haste. Hastily, and with a bit more nervousness than he would like, he waded his way through the rest of crowd.

It was always the same whenever he entered somewhere very crowded. The unsettling sensation that landed on his stomach, and his heightened heartbeat; the sweaty palms and the overbearing noise.

It took all he had in him to avoid running out of the establishment in panic.

He reached the main counter with unease, almost praying that nobody else deemed it necessary to come and talk to him. And thankfully his wish seemed to be fulfilled for the time being.

"Can I help you with something?"

An old and crusty voice addressed Harry.

He looked up to find a rather eccentric looking, for a wizard that is, old man, sitting behind the counter, flicking away the pages of a book with his wand.

The only indication he gave of being aware of Harry's presence was the quick glance he directed at the teenager.

Harry looked at the old man curiously for a second. He was certainly old, as several creases adorned his face. He was wearing rather thick glasses, as well as a contraption on top of those whose purpose Harry could only guess. Gray, almost silvery hair hung in a loose ponytail that reached his shoulders.

He gave off the impression that he'd much rather be somewhere else as he lazily flicked through he pages of the tome that laid directly in front of him.

"Uh yes, I'm looking for Hogwart's third year curriculum." Harry responded, unsure of what to think of the man.

"Very well" the man reached from under the counter lazily and picked up a stack of books. He laid them in front of Harry with a loud "thump!".

Strangely long fingers opened each book and flickered through the pages with practiced ease, all the while carefully inspecting and explaining the condition of the books to Harry.

"Now then" the old man reached again under the desk "Arithmancy, Runes, Divination or Care of Magical Beasts?" he inquired.

"All of them" Harry replied with fake confidence.

The elder wizard seemed to pause for a second before bringing out all the books.

"Planning on doing some extra work? Commendable" the old wizard commented as he laid them out again in front of Harry, repeating the previous process of inspection. Without another word the wizard stacked the books into a neat tower to the side.

"Anything else?" he asked, interlacing his fingers and resting his chin upon them.

Harry swallowed in slight trepidation. The man in front of him was staring at him weirdly. His eyes were distant, as if he wasn't paying any attention to Harry.

"Yea, the fourth, fifth, sixth and seventh year curriculums as well please" Harry replied

This got a reaction out of the man who paused as he dove under the counter for the books. This time he took a good look at Harry, who noticed for the first time the piercing blue eyes of wizard.

Slowly the wizard returned to his earlier position, with his chin resting on his fingers. However this time he was examining Harry with full attention, pausing only slightly when he spotted the telling scar.

"You do know that the curriculum changes every year according to the teacher's preferences?" there was slight amusement in his voice.

Harry nodded defiantly, staring directly into the older wizard eyes.

A small smirk seemed to tug at the lips of the old man.

"Very well" he replied with a rasp.

He went for the books under the counter, but before he could reach them, he stopped.

"Then again..." he pondered.

He turned to look at harry, a strange look in his face.

For his part, Harry was starting to get annoyed at the old man's antics. It really wasn't his business if he bought the books for all the curriculums of the next years. Especially since it was taking longer than Harry expected.

The old man remained staring at Harry, his eyes flickering occasionally towards Harry's lightning bolt scar.

"If i may offer some advice, young man?"

Harry observed the man with slight annoyance, but conceded dejectedly.

The old man straightened up and gave a slight nod towards Harry.

"Come"

Mildly curious, Harry followed the man, who had stepped out of the counter and was walking further into the shop, towards a less crowded area. Harry followed silently behind the man eying curiously the bookcases around him as he did.

Eventually, the crowd that had swarmed the main section of the library was left behind, and Harry, intrigued, tried to guess where they were going.

The old wizards stopped on a row of bookshelves way at the back of the store, and expertly began picking up books from all around him.

Harry watched with a raised eyebrow, only managing to catch a few glimpses of the covers of the books before they were covered by another selected book. Once the aged wizard seemed satisfied with the neat pile of books he had gathered, he turned towards Harry.

He took a second to remove his glasses along with the strange apparatus, and gave Harry another contemplative stare.

"You'll find this books more useful in the long run than anything that you might find the next year's curriculum." As he said that he wiped the dust from the cover of one book.

"How so?" Harry asked with mild surprise.

The aged wizard shrugged.

"You might know all the spells in the world, but each one of those is useless if you can't aim properly;" he rasped " most of this books try to guide and instruct in the topics of proper spell casting beyond the more common techniques"

Harry raised an eyebrow at that but didn't comment; he accepted the stack of books when the old wizard offered them to him.

The old man continued.

"Proper spell casting in the right situation will turn a simple stunner into a tool that can knock anyone out of his or her socks; the more advanced spells that you would undoubtedly find in next year's books might buy you the element of surprise, but when facing an accomplished adversary, that means little. The proper spell in the right situation in the right way WILL yield far more effective results."

The sagely tone which he had used as he spoke unnerved Harry slightly, built he could not deny that what he had said made some sort of sense.

"How do you know I intend to fight someone?" asked Harry, having picked up on the fact that the old man had read him like an open book.

"I didn't" the old man rasped and smirked "all I did was give you a suggestion derived from decades of experience"

Harry looked sheepishly at the aged wizards who smirked rather mysteriously.

ooo

Now Marco was sure he was in the right place.

Despite the fact that no one else was in sight, that particular chamber of the department had plenty of signs of recent use, such as the smell of fresh ink and the fading smoke wisps of recently put out candles.

It seemed that Marco had arrived just as someone, presumably and unspeakable, left.

Marco felt the Goosebumps rise on his skin and a lump form in his throat. If he was caught then, there was no telling what destiny awaited him. Even though Brittan's magical society had outgrown the most barbaric forms of punishment some time ago, there were still fairly horrendous and legal punishments that they would not hesitate to inflict upon someone who was breaking as many laws as he was.

Senses on high alert, Marco strode slowly into the room, practically hugging the wall as he did.

In contrast to the several rooms and forgotten areas that he had passed through before, this particular room was well lit with torches that burnt day and night with a pleasant blue flame.

One didn't need any kind of aid to walk around with their light, although it was still not bright enough to read comfortably, hence the many candles that hovered silently over the sits and tables that occasionally doted the room.

And to call it a room was an understatement.

It was more like a grand library, with walls that went up as much as twenty meters, where they met the classically arched roof.

There was a trace smell of sulfur in the air Marco noted. As he stealthily moved forwards, double checking all the time, that he was indeed alone, Marco couldn't help but gawk a little at the sight of the seemingly endless rows of bookshelves which seemed filled to the brim with books and scrolls of all sorts.

And yet a quick glance over the books told Marco all that he needed to know.

It was not in this particular chamber.

If they had actually left such thing out in the open, then the ministry was begging to be destroyed. No, it had to be somewhere else, somewhere more representative and symbolic.

Wizards liked their symbolism.

Breathing steadily to calm himself Marco stepped out of the shadows cast by the bookshelves and surveyed the room with critical eye.

He was no expert and certainly not capable of any of the magical feats that surrounded him in any way or form, but having hung around wizards long enough, he could tell where something was different on purpose with relative ease.

This library was exempt of the many rows of carved runes that had plagued other areas of the department. Instead, and running smoothly on the roof, lines of pulsating magic shone alone among the dim lighting of the library.

They ran perfectly straight all the way through and until the other end of the massive library where they ended. Except they didn't.

It was a minute detail, one you wouldn't have noticed had you not been looking for it; and even then you might have dismissed it as a simple and innocuous thing.

But Marco knew what was happening, hell, magical lines like that were almost identical to the ones that existed just outside his own room.

And they meant one thing.

Energy being directed, steadily and continuously to _somewhere_. And indeed, once Marco got closer to the other end of the library, squinting, he saw that the lines continued through the wall.

A strangely devoid of anything wall. In fact, that particular section of wall was in between two bookshelves where another one would have fitted perfectly.

"Really?" Marco deadpanned as he approached the wall. "And they wonder how people escape from Azkaban" he muttered sarcastically and silently as he ran his hand over the smooth stone slabs.

His finger found a small hole to the side of the smooth stone. Examining it with care, Marco had an idea.

And it made sense really.

He took the bunch of wands that he had collected earlier and with help from his flip lighter, examined each one of them with critical eye.

He took the one that looked the newest. It was long and slightly crooked, and even after possibly a hundred years, the polish that covered it, still shone under the light. It was also spared the scuffs and scratches that adorned the others.

Marco inserted the wand into the hole with one smooth motion and waited some time. He thought he heard the metallic clink of a mechanism behind the wall. But nothing happened.

Marco took out the wand a contemplated it. "So a newbie" he said, tucking the wand again into the pouch.

"Then" Marco selected the older, most worn out wand he had in his possession and inserted it. Almost immediately the slab of rock slid downwards until it had revealed a passage.

The racket it made echoed in the place for some time still.

Grimacing at the loud noise Marco took out the wand from the keyhole

"a veteran with likely access" Marco finished his sentence.

The chamber that the passageway led to, was fully lit by _something ethereal_ that emanated from the rock that made the ground of the chamber, which contrasted completely from the rest of the flooring of the department by being a deep, scorched black which seemed to be there one second and then a hole shrouded in darkness the other.

Marco had to double-check with his own foot that there was indeed something there before striding in.

The chamber itself was small and circular, and it looked old. Out of time old. And yet it remained in pristine condition, not a single crack ran through any of the painted murals that surrounded Marco.

"If i had to guess" Marco muttered to himself as he examined the paintings. "Egyptian..." he came to a conclusion.

"What, the, fuck"

Not thinking over it for the time being, Marco focused on the other thing that stood out in the chamber. A pedestal with a scroll on it.

An open scroll whose length had rolled onto the ground, displaying openly a part of its contents.

"That's not good" Marco muttered as he re-rolled the scroll with care, examining it for damage or a anything missing or anything that was not supposed to be there.

"Is it the real one though?" Marco wondered for a second before pocketing into his seemingly endless pouch.

 _"No matter, no unspeakable would be carless enough to leave it open, and if it was a fake it wouldn't be here anyway... no, they are ahead of us still."_

Marco exited the chamber quickly, the hidden entrance shutting after him.

He stood there in the middle of the library contemplating the situation. He patted his pouch once, as if to make sure that it was still there.

"Fuck" he muttered, before taking off running in the direction of his planned exit. Caution thrown to the wind.


End file.
